


The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

by kingsofeverything



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Again sort of, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Lifeguards, Angry Sex, Angst, Arguing, Bad Decisions, Beach Sex, Beaches, Boat Sex, Boats and Ships, Break Up, Cape Hatteras, Cheating, Cheating Louis, Divorce, Drunk Sex, Falling In Love, First Meetings, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Getting to Know Each Other, Harry in Panties, Hotel Sex, Hotels, Infidelity, Lifeguard Harry Styles, Lifeguard Louis Tomlinson, Lifeguards, Louis in Speedos, M/M, Meet-Cute, Miscommunication, Mistakes, Not H&L, Ocean Sex, Older Harry Styles, Older Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Older Louis Tomlinson, Parasailing, Post-Break Up, Post-Divorce, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Rimming, Sailboat, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Semi-Public Sex, Sexuality Crisis, Silver Fox Louis Tomlinson, Smut, Sorry but it is, Sort Of, Surfer Harry Styles, Surfer Liam Payne, Surfer Louis Tomlinson, Surfer Niall Horan, Surfer Zayn Malik, Suspension Of Disbelief, Swimming, Swimming Pools, as in the sex happens on a boat, but the real life kind, but this is vaguely set on the southeast coast of the United States, chicken stuffed with mozzarella wrapped in parma ham with a side of homemade mash, except for one, first time rimming, harry in speedos, imperfect characters, let’s call it an angry blow job, lying, merely an innocent bystander, older larry, the boat is not involved, the towns and cities are all fictional, these are tags for the whole fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 109,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27167686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsofeverything/pseuds/kingsofeverything
Summary: ≈≈≈≈≈Louis’ life is steady and calm, moored by his marriage, and tied to his hometown, but after a chance encounter with another man, it’ll never be the same.≈≈≈≈≈
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s), Louis Tomlinson/Original Female Character(s), Past Harry Styles/OMC, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 553
Kudos: 575





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooooo and welcome to my cheating fic. There is cheating in this fic. Also, infidelity. And cheating. Louis is married and he cheats on his wife with Harry. It’s not pretty and a lot of bad decisions are made. If that’s not your thing, please hit the back button :)
> 
> I tried for realism, but I also wanted a happy ending all around, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I hope you like it!
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH TO NIC for being amazing and wonderful and the best friend ever BUT ALSO for being so supportive of this fic and cheering me on when it got tough (read: emotional). Oh! And also betaing! XD I LOVE YOU 💙
> 
> Thank you Megan for the second beta/pre-read, but thanks as well for being you 💖
> 
> Thank you to KK💚for being so excited for this fic from day one and for reading the first half and cheering me on! I hope you like the rest :D
> 
>   
>  [Here’s the playlist I listened to while writing this fic ](https://open.spotify.com/user/temensigh/playlist/3rinjuM4a1r9ceUZvCUU3u?si=oMXSgSU_Tzu16emFu1cwew)
> 
> I made a book cover for those of you who like to download fics to your e-reader :)

≈≈≈≈≈

Gravel crunches under the tires of Louis’ truck as he eases it to a stop in the parking lot. He watches the ocean through the windshield, waiting for enough light on the horizon to make it down the beach without stumbling. 

As soon as the sky begins to glow orange, he kicks off his flip flops and climbs out of his truck, leaving his phone and keys wrapped up in his shirt on the driver’s side floorboard. With his surfboard beneath his arm, he walks over the worn, wooden walkway to the beach, stopping at the top of the stairs to watch the warm colors of dawn spread, reflected on the surface of the water. 

The ocean calls to him, and he runs down the stairs onto the soft sand, and across the beach, pausing at the shore to wiggle his toes in the mud. He wades through the cool water until it hits his thighs, ducking under a wave to get wet. On his board, Louis paddles out past the breakers, sitting up to watch the sunrise while he waits for a wave. 

“Dad!” 

Louis turns at the sound of his daughter’s voice, grinning as she ducks under a breaking wave. 

“Hey, Bo-Bo,” Louis says when she paddles closer. “You’re up early.”

“Wanted to see you before you leave,” Bo says, wrinkling her nose the same way he sometimes does. 

“I’ll be back Sunday afternoon,” Louis says. “Barely two days without me.”

“Yeah, but you’ll miss Sunday morning, so I thought I’d surf with you today. Besides, Liam has me working the opening shift while you’re gone.”

Louis nods, then shakes his head. “College kids aren’t supposed to  _ want _ to hang out with their parents.”

“Not a college student until I’m actually at school,” Bo says, jerking her head towards the oncoming wave to let him know she plans to take it. 

“Whatever you say,” Louis says, watching as she turns her board and paddles ahead of the wave. 

They spend about an hour surfing, chatting in between waves about Bo’s upcoming freshman year and Louis’ conference this weekend. It’s the first time he’ll be attending alone. Every other year he and Liam have gone together, and he’s been to the Southeastern Ocean Lifesaving Organization conference every summer for twenty-two years. But last year Niall left the beach service to manage the Ocean Grove Recreation Center, and Zayn isn’t comfortable being left alone and in charge, so there’s nothing to be done. Besides, Louis could use the weekend to himself to recharge before the busy summer season really kicks in. 

Bo carries her board up the beach to Louis’ truck, and he frowns at the parking lot. “Where’s your car?”

“Mikey dropped me off,” she says, laying a towel on the passenger seat and climbing into Louis’ truck. “She’s working the breakfast shift.”

Louis hums, backing out of the parking space and trying not to ask his daughter the questions he wants to ask. He leaves her and her surfboard at the beach access beside Liam’s truck with a kiss on the forehead and a reminder to wear sunblock, though he knows she knows better than to go without. 

≈≈≈≈≈

It’s a short drive home and he gets there in plenty of time to say goodbye to Bridget before she leaves for work. 

“Thought you’d already left,” Bridget says when Louis walks through the side door, and drops his keys in the little blue dish on the kitchen counter. She turns to check her reflection in the mirror by the front door, adjusting her necklace, and smoothing her short, blonde bob. 

“Was surfing with Bo,” Louis says, poking his head into the pantry and grabbing a granola bar. “Just need to shower. My bag’s packed. You and Bo got anything planned while I’m gone?”

She catches his eye in the mirror, checking her teeth for lipstick, the same way she always does before she leaves the house. “Shopping on Sunday. She said she’ll be home around four. Might go to dinner Saturday night. Liam’s got her working every damn day.”

Louis turns to throw out the wrapper from his granola bar and rolls his eyes while he’s facing away. “She was off Wednesday and Thursday. She wants the hours, so take it up with Bo if you think she works too much. You can’t be mad at Liam.”

Huffing while she fishes her keys out of the bowl, Bridget picks up her briefcase and crosses the kitchen, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Louis’ lips. She backs away with a familiar grimace. “Always taste so salty.”

“It’s the ocean, babe. Thirty years in, you think you’d be used to it,” Louis says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Twenty-nine,” she says, raising her eyebrows. 

“Close enough,” Louis says, tilting his head. 

“Have fun this weekend,” Bridget says as she opens the door.

“Hope so. Supposed to be some powerful swells from that storm that just missed us,” Louis says, finishing his granola bar. He swallows and calls after her before she shuts the door, “Have a good day!”

Having packed the previous night, all Louis has to do is take a quick shower before he’s ready to go. The conference isn’t a formal one. A bunch of lifeguards and ocean rescue people aren’t going to spend the weekend in Cape Hatteras wearing suits and ties. Louis does bring a couple of nice polos and some shorts that don’t double as swim trunks, but other than that, he’ll spend the weekend in and out of the water. 

≈≈≈≈≈

The drive through North Carolina is smooth and uneventful, but long. He timed it perfectly, only waiting in line a short while for the ferry that will take him over to the island. Once he parks his truck on the ferry, and the boat captain gives the all-clear, Louis leaves his truck and walks to the bow of the ferry, watching the water pass below them. 

“Hi, um… Excuse me.” Louis looks towards the deep, unfamiliar voice, squinting as the sunlight hits his eyes. “Are you part of the S.O.L.O. conference?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, turning to face him and leaning against the bulkhead. He grins, tugging at the brim of his hat. It’s navy blue and embroidered with the Southeastern Ocean Lifesaving Organization logo, and the back of his t-shirt is screen printed with it as well. “You?”

“Yeah,” he says, extending his hand for Louis to shake. “I’m Harry.”

Taking Harry’s hand, Louis notes his long fingers, and firm, but easy grip, trying not to feel self conscious about how small his own hand seems in comparison. “Louis. This your first time? I don’t remember you.”

Harry hums. “Terry asked me to speak about drowning prevention. It’s kind of my passion.”

“Right business to be in, then,” Louis says, still grinning at him. He’s just a bit taller than Louis, with dark, wavy hair sprinkled with grey that turns almost completely white at the temples, different from Louis’ own silver hair. When Harry smiles, dimples appear in both cheeks, and Louis wishes he had dimples, though more often than not his beard would keep them covered. 

“I guess? I’m the aquatics director at the Y in Crown Bay,” Harry says, releasing Louis’ hand. “Not in the ocean at all, at least, not when I’m working.”

“Ahh… A pool swimmer. Thought I smelled chlorine,” Louis says with a wink, the back of his neck heating almost immediately. He rubs his eye, hoping that Harry will assume he wasn’t actually winking at him, and wonders what the hell he was thinking. 

Shaking his head, he opens his mouth to speak, but the captain’s voice booms through the speakers, announcing that it’s time for them to go back to their vehicles so the ferry can safely pull into port. Louis jerks his thumb towards his truck. “See you there?”

“Yeah, see you there,” Harry says. 

Louis climbs back into his truck, while Harry lingers at the bow of the boat. He waves and Harry lifts his hand, waving back, combing his fingers through his hair as he walks away. Driving off the ferry onto the two lane road, Louis heads for the same hotel the organization books for the conference every year, the only one on the island with a banquet hall. 

Once he parks his truck, he calls Bridget to let her know he arrived safely, but gets her voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, he sends her a quick text, then sends one to Bo, too, who texts back asking to see the view from his room, which she does every year. 

Checking in only takes a few minutes, and after Louis sends Bo a picture of the beach from his third floor balcony, he leaves his shirt and flip flops in his room and heads down to the water with his surfboard. Most of the S.O.L.O. members there for the convention are already out in the water. Louis recognizes Terry and Mike and Frank, and paddles out to join them. 

One of his favorite things about this weekend is getting to relax in the water. At home, Louis is always on the lookout, keeping an eye on anyone else in or near the water. On S.O.L.O. conference weekends, he doesn’t feel the need to be so vigilant, surrounded by a couple of dozen equally skilled ocean rescue lifeguards. 

Eyes on the horizon, Louis pushes his wet hair back off his forehead. When he turns towards the beach, he sees Harry from the ferry paddling out and ducking under a wave. Harry resurfaces and catches Louis’ eye, grinning in recognition and pointing the nose of his board in Louis’ direction. 

“I thought we’d all be standing around, shooting the shit, exchanging business cards or something,” Harry says with a snort, and Louis sputters a laugh, covering his mouth. 

“That’s tonight,” Louis says, nodding his head towards an approaching wave. “Mine.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, widening his eyes, and Louis is struck by the clear green. He digs in, paddling hard in front of the wave and leaves Harry behind him. 

≈≈≈≈≈

The only meals included in the conference weekend are the continental breakfasts on Saturday and Sunday morning, so after working up an appetite in the water, Louis orders a club sandwich from room service, and eats it while laying naked across his bed in front of the television. When it’s time for cocktail hour, Louis gets dressed and heads down to the hotel bar. He’s never been much of a drinker, asking for a vodka with club soda in a tall glass. 

He speaks to the other attendees in the bar while he sips his drink, then switches to plain seltzer. A few of the guys are already on their way to drunk, so Louis avoids their loud, raucous chatter, but he catches up with the guys who come to the conference every year, conversations going past their expiration date, while his eyes flicker to Harry sitting at the bar alone. 

“Louis, my man,” Terry says, shaking Louis’ hand for the second time that day. “Have you met Harry? Come meet Harry. He’s doing a presentation tomorrow.”

“We’ve met,” Louis says, but Terry doesn’t seem to hear him, leading Louis away from the table to the bar. 

Harry turns on his barstool as they approach, and he stands to greet them, reaching for Terry’s hand and shaking it as Terry says, “Harry! So glad you could make it this weekend. Really looking forward to your presentation tomorrow. Wanted to make sure you met Louis. He’s been a member for years and he’ll be interested in your work. His beach service—” 

Yelping and jumping to the side, Terry spins around, clearly ready to berate the person behind him who spilled their drink down his back, but it’s Frank, who instantly and sincerely apologizes, taking some of the wind out of Terry’s sails. 

With a sigh, Terry says, “Shit happens, man. I’ll run up to my room and change.” 

When Terry disappears, and Frank heads back to the table with a fresh drink, Harry quietly says, “I thought there was going to be a bar fight.”

Laughing into his seltzer, Louis says, “A bar lecture, maybe.”

Harry lets loose a honking laugh, much too loud for Louis’ little joke, and slaps his hand over his mouth. He points to the golden liquor in his glass and says, “Sorry. I’ve had tequila.”

“Tequila turns you into a goose?” Louis raises his eyebrows and Harry covers his mouth again, nodding. “Terry seems to think I’ll be interested in your presentation. Drowning prevention, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, um… I’m a bit nervous…” Harry trails off, furrowing his brow and pursing his lips, drawing Louis’ attention to his perfectly shaped Cupid’s bow. Looking at his own mouth in his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, Louis wonders what he would look like with a plump pout rather than his thin lips. 

When Harry doesn’t say more, Louis asks, “Did you practice?”

“I did. In the mirror at home,” Harry says with a quick nod. 

Sliding onto the stool beside Harry, Louis sets his glass down, claps almost silently, and says, “Well, come on.”

“You don’t have to do this, Louis,” Harry says, tipping his head towards the group of tables the rest of the conference attendees have pushed together. “Your friends—”

“Harry,” Louis says, laying his hand on Harry’s forearm and giving it a squeeze. “I see those guys once a year. I wouldn’t call them friends. More like work associates. And I really am interested.”

Harry looks from the crowd around the tables to Louis, chewing on the corner of his lower lip, but then he releases it, grinning crookedly, and drops his chin to his chest. He gazes up at Louis through his eyelashes, and says, “Alright. Here goes…”

Every time Harry pauses after asking the “audience” a question, Louis responds, even going so far as to raise his hand and ask his own questions as if Harry truly were giving his presentation then and there. When Harry wraps up his one-on-one presentation with one of the oldest, worst jokes Louis has ever heard (What does one ocean say to the other? Nothing, it just waves!), laughing before he can get to the punchline, Louis finds himself smiling indulgently. Harry’s just that charming.

There’s nothing for Harry to be nervous about. He’s engaging, warm, inspiring, knowledgeable, charismatic, and Louis tells him as much. It’s all true, and Louis could probably stop at one or two compliments, but the way that Harry’s eyes light up with each one keeps him talking. 

“You’ll be fine,” Louis says, sipping the last of his seltzer. He waves the bartender off when he offers a refill, sliding the empty glass towards her. “And if no one else speaks up, I’ll be there to answer your questions for the crowd.”

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry says, swirling what’s left of the tequila in the bottom of his glass. “Hey, um…” 

Louis yawns, jaw cracking with it. “Shit. I should get to bed. Surfing at dawn.”

“Oh, um, yeah,” Harry says, nodding when Louis stands and stuffs a five in the tip jar. “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Louis says, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep from tucking Harry’s hair behind his ear. He’s always been affectionate with his friends, but he and Harry are hardly that. Louis blinks hard, checking over his shoulder before he takes a step back. 

“Wait, um… I’ll walk with you,” Harry says, tossing some money on the bar. 

They leave together, an easy silence between them as they make their way up the stairs. When they reach the third floor, Louis starts to say goodnight and head for his room, but Harry stays beside him, and Louis remembers that the conference blocks rooms for the attendees every year, probably the entire floor, since it’s not a large hotel. 

Louis stops at his room, and Harry does too, clasping his hands in front of him and rocking back on his heels. “I, um… Thanks for tonight, Louis.”

“No problem, man,” Louis says, sliding the keycard through and opening his door. “See you in the water.”

“Hmm?” Harry takes a step closer, eyebrows drawing together, line between them deepening.

“Surfing in the morning,” Louis explains, jerking his thumb towards the ocean. “I’ll be up before the sun. See you then.”

“Right,” Harry says, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “Sleep well.”

“You too, man,” Louis says, stepping into his room. “’Night.”

Alone in his hotel room, Louis kicks off his Vans and strips out of his clothes, sprawling across the bed in his boxers. He checks his phone, but other than Bridget’s response to his earlier text, there are no messages from his wife. Frowning at the screen, Louis types out a quick message.

Bridget  
  
**Louis:** Weird being alone in the bed! No one here to wake me up if I start snoring  
  


Then, because it feels strange to leave it at that, he sends another text. 

Bridget  
  
**Louis:** Miss you and love you  
  


Louis gets up to brush his teeth, then crawls beneath the sheets, checking his phone again, and sending a text to Bo.

Bo-Bo  
  
**Louis:** Take a cab if you’re drinking. Love you. Be careful  
  


Three little dots flicker on the screen, and Bo’s response comes through. 

Bo-Bo  
  
**Bo:** Watching a movie and staying at Mikey’s. Letting mom have the house to herself  
  
**Louis:** Tell Mikey I said hi. Glassy and smooth today with awesome ground swell. Should’ve seen it  
  
**Bo:** Jealous  
  
**Louis:** You could’ve come with me!   
  
**Bo:** Not on your boys weekend. Would be weird   
  
**Louis:** Whatever Bo-Bo. Love you. See you Sunday   
  


Bo sends her love, and Louis types out a text to Liam to check that everything went well on the beach. He falls asleep before Liam can reply. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Up before the sun, as is his habit, Louis brushes his teeth and wipes the sleep from his eyes, pulling on a pair of baggies and grabbing his board. Most everyone at the conference will be out on the water after sunrise, but Louis likes to greet the dawn alone. He doesn’t bother with his flip flops, slipping his keycard into his pocket and patting the Velcro closed. 

Louis opens his hotel room door and jumps, holding his free hand to his bare chest. “Scared the shit out of me. What are you doing, Harry?”

“Waiting for you,” Harry says with an easy shrug, nodding towards his board leaning on the railing beside him. “That okay? I don’t really know anyone else here.”

Transfixed by the way the yellow lights along the outside hallway of the motel shine golden in the grey at Harry’s temples, Louis takes a moment to answer. He finally whispers, “It’s fine.”

They start down the stairs, staying quiet until they leave the parking lot. Harry clears his throat, and says, “All those guys together can be kind of intimidating.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a boys’ club. Wish there were more women,” Louis says, hitching his board up higher under his arm. From the corner of his eye, Louis can see Harry look at him and frown, humming in response, and he feels the need to explain. “I mean, there are some women in the S.O.L.O. but even the members we do have— Well, you can see for yourself. None of them come to the conference. Would be nice to have it be more balanced.”

“Oh, yeah. I agree,” Harry says, stopping in the middle of the dunes. “It’s so beautiful here.”

“My favorite thing in the world,” Louis says, feet sinking in the soft sand. “The beach between twilight and dawn.”

“Is it?” Harry asks, and Louis nods. 

“Yep. Try to be out there every morning,” Louis says, starting towards the water. 

There’s a hurricane out in the Atlantic that never made landfall, but it’s generating bigger waves than Louis usually gets at home. With only the two of them out, he and Harry don’t have to take turns as long as they keep far enough away from each other. When the sun breaks over the horizon, Louis paddles around to face it, watching as the burnt orange gradually lightens to yellow. Once the bottom curve of the sun is visible, Louis turns back to wait for another wave, and finds Harry studying him.

“Every morning, huh?” Harry juts his chin towards the horizon. “What about when it rains or it’s cold?”

“I watch from my truck,” Louis says. “Or wear a wetsuit.”

“Oh…” Harry nods and lays down on his board, paddling in front of the swelling wave. 

Louis lets him have that one to himself, keeping his eyes on Harry instead of the ocean behind him. He pops up perfectly, using the strength in his back and chest to move swiftly into position, taking a wider stance than Louis does due to his long legs. They haven’t seen a barrel yet today, but the waves are big enough for more than just riding straight in, and Harry cuts back smoothly, twisting again to go in the original direction for the rest of the wave. He’s good. Not as good as Louis, but he’s worth watching. 

Louis doesn’t mean to turn it into a contest, but it seems that Harry is as competitive as he is, and soon they’re taking wave after wave, one-upping each other until they’re both catching air and attempting tricks that Louis hasn’t tried in years. Harry wipes out on a three-sixty and Louis waits with bated breath, hands over his open mouth, but Harry surfaces, cackling as he rights his board and paddles past the breakers to where Louis sits waiting. 

They take a rest then, stretching sore muscles that haven’t seen this much work in a long time, and watching the other conference attendees paddle out. They must’ve all stayed pretty late in the bar last night if none of them made it for the sunrise. 

After taking a few breaks to sit on the sand and dry off before going back in the water, Louis heads back to the hotel, leaving Harry on the beach talking to Terry and some of the other guys. He stops in the little cafe and orders something to eat, carrying it up to his room. 

Most of his days are spent moving. He’s an active person. He surfs almost every morning, then goes from dawn to dusk, hardly sitting down unless he’s driving somewhere, but a few hours in the water with Harry there pushing him, and he’s exhausted. If he’s going to spend time with Harry, he’ll have to get in the habit of eating a good breakfast beforehand. Not that they’ll be hanging out after this weekend. Maybe next year, if Harry comes to the conference again. 

There’s plenty of time for a nap before the conference officially starts, and Louis takes advantage, washing and eating as fast as he can, then passing out on his stomach on the bed. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Groggy when his phone alarm wakes him, Louis goes to the bathroom to splash some cool water on his face. His slight headache reminds him that he never had a cup of coffee that morning, so he makes one in the little Keurig provided with his room and takes it out on the balcony. Sitting in the wooden rocker, he props his feet up on the railing, and sips his coffee, enjoying the salt air, the ocean breeze, and the solitude. 

Typically, Louis doesn’t put much thought into what he wears, as long as it’s clean, because he almost always wears the same thing: baggy surf shorts, t-shirts, and Vans or flip flops. In the winter, he trades out the shorts for jeans, and throws a hoodie on. Occasionally, he’ll wear a polo and a nice pair of trousers, like he did for Bo’s graduation a few weeks back, and he has a blazer in case of cooler weather. If, god forbid, he has to attend a funeral, there’s a suit in the back of his closet. Thankfully, it hasn’t been worn in a while.

Standing in front of the mirror, Louis fixes the collar of his shirt, smoothing the front and turning to the side. The linen shorts are a bit shorter and tighter than he prefers, but Bo bought them for him for Father’s Day, so he takes a picture and sends it to her. 

Bo-Bo  
  
**Louis:** Are you sure these are ok?  
  
**Bo:** You look handsome!   
  
**Bo:** Except for the toothpaste in your beard   
  


As he’s typing a response, his phone rings.

“Hey,” Louis says, walking out onto the balcony. “You and Bo having fun without me?”

“We’re getting our nails done,” Bridget says. “Girls night out. We’re going to dinner after this.”

“Nice. Where to?” Louis asks, leaning on the railing and watching the sea oats wave in the wind. 

“Not sure. Bo wants sushi, so…” she trails off, then says, “Your conference is about to start, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I can be a few minutes late if you want to talk,” Louis says, sitting in the rocking chair and resting his elbows on his knees.

“No, you go ahead,” Bridget says, adding, “Have fun.”

“Will do, babe,” Louis says, and she hangs up. He frowns at the phone screen and slides it into his pocket. 

Downstairs in the banquet hall, Louis weaves his way to the second row of chairs where Harry sits, clearly nervous, bouncing his knee and staring straight ahead. 

“Hey, man,” Louis says, taking a seat and leaving an empty chair between them. “You okay?”

Harry mutters something, and Louis slides into the empty chair, leaning down to catch his eye. 

“Stage fright,” Harry says a little louder. 

“Oh… Shit. Okay.” Louis looks around, not that he’ll find any help. Hoping that a joke will lighten the mood, he asks, “What are you supposed to do? Picture everyone naked or something?” 

Scowling, Harry turns to face him. “What?”

“You know, like, picture Terry in an embarrassing situation. Don’t people usually say, like, naked or in a chicken costume or something?”

“Oh, um… No, I’d rather not,” Harry says, taking a deep breath.

“Okay, well, I’ve already heard your presentation, and it’s good. You did the whole thing last night, no problem,” Louis says, rubbing the palm of his hand over Harry’s hunched back. 

“Yeah, but that was just you. And you’re…” Harry coughs into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“I’m what?” Louis asks, wanting to distract him by making him talk. 

Sighing, Harry straightens up in his chair a bit, glancing over at him. “I don’t know. Easy to talk to? You made me feel comfortable.”

“Right. So, I’m here now, aren't I?” Louis pats Harry’s shoulder, then realizes he’s been touching him since he sat down, so he tucks his hands between his knees, and says, “What if you just give me the presentation again? I’ll sit here, you look at me and pretend no one else is here.”

Harry sniffs, scrunching his nose. “That might work.”

“Either it does or it doesn’t. No big deal. And maybe, if you can’t do it, I can go up there and give it a shot,” Louis offers without thinking, and Harry smiles. “Does it make you feel better to have a backup plan?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry says, reaching for the bottle of water at his feet. He takes a drink, and Louis watches him, admiring the cut of his jawline, and the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. 

It never occurred to him to think of a man as pretty before, but Harry certainly is. Handsome, yes, but stunningly pretty as well. Louis shakes his head, and leans back in his seat as Terry steps up to the podium. 

There are four presentations, with Harry scheduled last. When Louis first realized, he thought waiting would make Harry’s stage fright worse, but it seems to lessen as they listen to talks on rip current research and education, social media use for beach services, and the pros and cons of larger guard towers. 

Maybe it’s the passing time, or maybe it’s that each of the people who get up to talk are just regular people, not a professional speaker in the bunch. They laugh at themselves and make mistakes, and when it’s finally Harry’s turn, his hands might shake while he adjusts the microphone, and his voice might tremble a bit as he introduces himself, but he’s perfect, keeping his eyes steady on Louis until he asks the audience the first question and someone else calls out an answer. 

After that, he’s fine, and Louis’ entire body relaxes. He didn’t realize he was so tense. 

Harry wraps things up with his joke, and takes his seat beside Louis, leaning in and whispering, breath tickling Louis’ ear, “Thanks, Lou. Owe you one.”

It’s not a nickname he hears often. In fact, it’s one he’s discouraged in the past, but when Harry says it, Louis’ heart swells, proud that he was able to help, and he grins, looking over at him. “Buy me a drink and we’re even.”

≈≈≈≈≈

“Tequila?” Louis asks when Harry slides the glass in front of him and he sniffs it. 

Harry shrugs. “I like it. Sip it slowly and— Louis, I said sip it slowly.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, throat burning as he reaches for his vodka and soda. “Tequila’s always been a shot to me. You know, lick the salt and suck the lime and all that. Last time I drank some was probably fifteen years ago or more.”

“Oh, god, no,” Harry says, tipping his glass and watching the golden liquid settle against the side. “Good tequila should be sipped and savored. I’ll have to teach you.”

“Well, you’ve got tonight, but I don’t usually drink tequila,” Louis says, tapping the side of the empty glass of tequila and lifting his vodka and soda to take another sip. 

“Make an exception?” Harry asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ll consider it,” Louis says, but Harry pumps his fist like he’s won something, and Louis knows he’ll give in. Hopefully, their food will arrive soon, and maybe he can drink enough water to balance it out. 

“Harry!” Terry’s booming voice startles them, both jumping when he pulls out the chair beside Harry to join them on their end of the long table. “Great job, man. So happy you could make it.”

“Thanks, Terry,” Harry says, eyes flickering to meet Louis’ before looking back at Terry. “I was a little nervous, but Louis talked me through it.”

“He’s a good guy,” Terry says, gesturing at Louis with his bottle of beer. “Heard Liam wasn’t coming with him this year and thought he’d be a bit bored. Glad you guys have kept each other entertained.”

Harry frowns, adjusting his chair. “Like I said, he talked me through my stage fright. And I’ve had fun surfing with all of you.”

“Right, right. And we’re surfing at dawn tomorrow,” Terry says, clearing his throat and slapping Harry on the back. “You guys need a drink? On me.”

At the same time that Louis shakes his head, Harry says, “Two Azunia tequilas, neat, no garnish. Thanks, Terry.”

Terry walks away, and Louis says, “Guess I’m drinking tequila.”

Thankfully, their salads come out before Terry returns with their drinks, and Harry asks Louis to finish his vodka and soda before they drink the Azunia, so he gets a bit of a breather. 

“You didn't mention anything in your presentation, even though you’re obviously passionate about it,” Louis says after he finishes his salad. “Were you a junior lifeguard or something? What got you so excited about drowning prevention?”

“Sounds silly when you say it like that.” Harry spears a cucumber slice on his fork, chewing thoughtfully before he says, “I don’t usually like to talk about it.”

“Oh, sorry, I—”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind telling you,” Harry rushes to explain, setting his fork down and leaning forward, meeting Louis’ eyes. “I almost drowned when I was nine.”

“Really?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes, really.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant,” Harry says with a sigh. “It’s why I don’t really like to tell people. Everyone thinks I’m talking about, like, waving at the lifeguard in a pool, he throws me the ring and pulls me in.”

“Yeah, but I should know better,” Louis says, pushing his salad plate away. He lowers his voice and asks, “What happened?”

“Short version? I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but they said I was blue. Hypoxic convulsions. Not pretty. Almost gave my grandma a heart attack,” Harry says with a laugh. “Spent a couple of days in the hospital. Lucky to be alive.”

“Long version?” Louis asks, though he could probably guess. 

“It was summer, my mom had surgery, and my sister and I went to stay with my grandma while she recovered,” Harry says, picking up his tequila, but not taking a drink. His voice is deeper and slower, hypnotic as he tells the story. “We spent the week at the beach. My sister was twelve, already all about tanning. Spent her days coated in baby oil, if you can believe that. Anyway, after five days, I guess my grandma thought I knew better, or maybe she didn’t realize the current was so strong. I don’t know. Current pulled me out, I couldn’t touch the bottom, a big wave broke, like, right on top of me, and that was it. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn't make a sound. Went under.”

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis says, taking a drink before he can stop himself. It’s not too bad, though not nearly as mild as vodka and soda. 

“Yeah, some surfer saw me. A fifteen year old kid. He got me on his board and paddled in,” Harry says, clinking their glasses together. “He knew CPR. Saved my life.”

“Wow. What a story, man,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair to let the waitress set his plate in front of him. He looks up at Harry, shaking his head. “I mean, not a story. You know what I mean, I think.”

“I do,” Harry says quietly. “As soon as my mom would let me, I took swimming lessons, CPR, everything I could. Swim team. Junior guards. Lifeguarded as soon as I was old enough. Learned to surf. Sail. If it was water related, I was interested. Thought about being a doctor for a while, but ehh… What about you? What’s your origin story?”

Louis laughs, dipping a fried shrimp in cocktail sauce and pointing it at Harry. “If she could’ve, my mom would’ve given birth to me in the ocean. I’ve spent more of my life on the beach than anywhere else.”

They don’t talk as much while they eat, though as soon as they’re finished, Harry tries to teach him about tequila. Louis just doesn’t care enough. He listens, sure, but his attention is on Harry’s look of concentration, the way he sniffs the liquor, his smile, the perfect line of his two front teeth biting into his lower lip. He’s fascinating. Louis tips his glass back, finishing it before he can stop himself. 

Each drink unfocuses Louis a little more, but his center of attention remains the same, until Harry excuses himself to the restroom, and Louis watches him walk away, immediately missing his presence. It’s not a shock to his system, but it does have him ordering another tequila so he can’t think about it anymore. When Harry returns, Louis has replaced both of their drinks, and is more intoxicated than he’s been in recent memory. 

Hopefully, he’ll still be able to walk when he stands up. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Matching Harry drink for drink might’ve been a mistake, but Louis is too drunk to care about the repercussions. Hangover or not, it’s been the most enjoyable evening at a S.O.L.O. conference he’s ever had, and that’s including the year after Bo was born, when he and Liam went midnight surfing during the full moon and a pod of dolphins joined them on a few waves. On second thought, that one still holds its first place position. Of course, this night isn’t over yet. There’s still time for dolphins to join them. 

Louis laughs at himself, giggling into the back of his hand, and tells Harry about the surfing dolphins. 

“No way,” Harry says, dragging out his words like he’s being very careful not to slur the sounds together. 

“Yes way, Ted,” Louis says, hoping that Harry gets the reference. They’re about the same age, though Harry's probably a little younger. It’s hard to tell. Louis has never been good at guessing how old people are. 

“Excellent,” Harry says, playing some air guitar. 

Louis laughs again, cheeks sore from smiling, and says, “It was so amazing. Made me feel really small, you know? Like, in the grand scheme of things, if that makes sense.”

“Perspective,” Harry says knowingly. 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, reaching for his empty glass. He frowns at it and says, “You get it.”

“I think so,” Harry says, nudging Louis’ water glass towards him. “Is that part of your early morning surfing thing? Gain some perspective before you start the day?”

“Exactly,” Louis says, feeling like Harry really does understand him. “You said you sail?”

“Not often. And nothing bigger than a Hobie Cat,” Harry says. “I don’t have my captain’s license or anything. Haven’t been sailing in years.”

“I go out sometimes, but not often enough,” Louis says, trying to recall the last time he went out sailing for more than half an hour or so. It’s been a while since he’s done it outside the business of giving lessons through the beach service, and he rarely does that anymore. “But I used to love to go out until I couldn’t see the shore, until I was completely surrounded by the ocean, with nothing around me but water…”

“Perspective,” Harry says again, and Louis nods.

“Yeah.”

The sound of chairs scraping pops the bubble they’ve spent most of the evening in, and Louis grabs his water, chugging it before standing and pulling out his wallet. 

“We already paid,” Harry says, tapping his fingertip on Louis’ wrist. “You tipped on your credit card.”

Louis leaves a twenty on the table anyway. 

≈≈≈≈≈

The whole group walks back to the hotel together. Some of them have obviously had too much to drink, and there’s no way half these guys will be up to surf at sunrise, but Louis thinks he does a decent job staying steady on his feet. It helps to have Harry beside him, talking softly, making jokes and giggling at himself. 

He was right. The conference did block the entire third floor, and they all make their way up the stairs, two by two, and Harry tells a joke about boarding the ark that makes no sense at all, but Louis still laughs. 

“Think you’ll be on the beach for the sunrise?” Harry asks, leaning back against his hotel room door and biting his lower lip. 

Sucking air through his teeth, Louis grimaces. “Maybe?”

“I will if you will,” Harry says, scrunching his nose and pursing his lips, drawing Louis’ attention to them yet again. They’re just so pink. At first, Louis thought maybe Harry was wearing some sort of lipstick, but there were no traces left on any of his drinking glasses, and they turned from pink to red as the night wore on. A door slams, and Louis looks around to find they’re the only ones left in the hallway. “Do you, um… Do you want to come in? For a cup of coffee or something?”

It’s late, and normally Louis would decline, but he finds it difficult to say no to Harry, especially when he seems so nervous, looking down at his hands and twisting his fingers together. With as much tequila as he’s had, a single cup of coffee isn’t going to keep him awake.

“Sure. Yeah,” Louis says, and Harry’s furrowed brow relaxes. He smiles, unlocking his door and leading Louis inside. 

Harry brews the coffee, and as soon as Louis takes a sip, he knows he won’t finish it. He sets the cup down on the counter, pushing it away, and watches Harry’s pout as he stirs his. 

“You don’t want it?” Harry asks, studying Louis’ face.

Shaking his head, Louis looks from Harry’s eyes back to his mouth. Harry clenches his fists, then stretches his long fingers out on the countertop. They shake as he lifts them up, but when he cradles Louis’ face, his hands are steady. All of the softness of Harry’s earlier fleeting touches—to Louis’ hand, wrist, forearm, elbow, bicep, shoulder—is gone. His grip on Louis’ jaw is firm, and when their lips meet, Louis is rendered incapable of thought, motivated only by the need to feed the growing fire in his belly. 

The swipe of Harry’s tongue parts his lips, and when Harry’s stubble catches on his beard, Louis gasps at the unfamiliar feeling and pushes closer, eyes closed tight against the dim lamplight. Tequila courses through his bloodstream, warmth flooding his body, and as he gives in to the feeling, his cock twitches. Unusual, especially from nothing more than a kiss. He grabs hold of Harry’s hips, sliding his hands around his waist, pulling him in, trying to eliminate any space left between them. It’s what he’s wanted to do all day, but he didn’t recognize the longing until Harry touched him. 

“Bed?” Harry mumbles against his mouth, and Louis nods, breaking away, already fumbling with his shirt. A quiet voice in the back of his head tells him to stop, but Harry is so warm, and Louis' head is swimming, making the little voice easy to ignore. 

Yanking his shirt over his head, he steps towards the bed, falling onto it on his back with Harry following him down. The warm, bare skin of Harry’s chest touches his, and Louis moans quietly, throwing his head back when Harry’s weight settles on him, putting pressure on his hardening cock. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that. 

Overwhelmed with a craving for more of the exquisite heat of Harry’s skin, Louis shoves at the waistband of Harry’s shorts, then at his own, attempting to strip them both naked. It’s all so different from anything Louis has experienced. He’s never— Not with a guy. Not with anyone but his wife. Harry sits up enough to push his shorts and briefs down to his knees, and when Louis sees Harry’s dick, he realizes he’s never seen one so hard and so close. It’s big, and a bit frightening. Definitely not what he’s used to. But it’s physical evidence that Harry wants him, and it’s been too long since he’s felt wanted. His subconscious objections are dissolved by tequila and the thrill of Harry’s touch. 

Louis can only get his shorts to mid-thigh before Harry is back, lining their bodies up, stretching out on top of him, and bringing their chests together. Harry circles his hips, dipping down to slip his tongue between Louis’ lips. Louis gets lost in the feeling of his soft mouth. 

Two hands aren’t enough to touch all of Harry at once, but Louis tries, skating his palms over Harry’s shoulders, the shifting muscles of his back, moaning at the flex of his glutes as Harry grinds against him. 

Threading his fingers through Harry’s short curls, Louis tips his head, kissing his neck, licking the salt from his skin. Harry rests his weight to the side, fitting his hand between their bodies, thumbing at Louis’ nipple. He finds Louis’ mouth again, sucking Louis’ lower lip between his teeth. His fingers slip in the sweat on Louis’ flank, over the bumps of his ribs, and Louis clutches at his shoulders, bucking against him. Pleasure sparks across his skin. 

The hair at the base of Harry’s cock rubs against Louis’ balls, already tight against his body, and as Harry moves, the sensitive head of Louis’ dick slides over the soft skin of Harry’s stomach. Louis’ eyes roll back in his head, his jaw goes slack, and he comes, spurting between them. 

Heart racing, chest heaving, Louis tries to catch his breath while Harry rides his own orgasm out, panting against his neck. Harry falls to the side, rolling onto his stomach, and sleep pulls Louis under.

≈≈≈≈≈


	2. Chapter 2

≈≈≈≈≈

Louis’ back is cold. Every other part of him is warm, but his back is cold. His eyelids feel like they’re glued together, and when he inhales, something herbal that he can’t quite place fills his nose. He blinks slowly, and memories of the previous night rush back, inundating his senses, making his heart thunder inside his rib cage. 

The herbal scent is Harry’s hair. The warmth is his naked body where Louis is curled around him. The air conditioner is set low, blowing cold air across his bare back. 

Warily, he untangles his limbs from Harry’s, praying to whatever higher power might help him that he doesn’t wake up. Under the sheets, at the bottom of the bed, his shorts and boxers are balled up with his room keycard, wallet, and phone still in the pockets. 

Louis steps into his shorts, catching his toe and hopping on one foot while he struggles to get them on. He pulls them up, stuffs his boxers in his pocket, and tugs his shirt over his head, cradling his shoes against his chest as he tiptoes across the room. Careful not to make a sound, Louis opens the door, stepping into the corridor, not daring to breathe until the door is shut. 

Back inside his own room, Louis locks every lock. Turning and leaning against the door, he closes his eyes against the torrent of guilt. Thirty years together, a commitment lasting two-thirds of his life, and he ruined it all in one night. With a man. It’s too much to handle. He rushes through a shower, scrubbing their dried come from his stomach and pubic hair, while his heart thumps in his chest. 

Dripping wet, he steps onto the bath rug, avoiding his reflection while he brushes his teeth, gagging on his toothbrush, coughing and spitting toothpaste into the sink. He dips his head down to drink water directly from the faucet, and when he looks up, finally meeting his own eyes in the mirror, he doesn’t know what he expected to see, but he looks the same. There’s nothing to show that he cheated. No big, red A on his chest. No sign that he spent the night with another guy. 

He’s hungover, but it’s not as bad as it should be. Dressing quickly, he double checks that he isn’t leaving anything behind. Not ten minutes after he woke up plastered to Harry’s back, he’s in his truck, pulling out of the parking lot, hands shaking no matter how tightly he grips the steering wheel. 

The ferry leaves at six and he just makes it. 

Despite the twisting in his gut, and the knowledge that fresh air on deck would help settle his stomach, Louis doesn’t get out of his truck. He spends the forty-five minute ferry ride trying to persuade himself that it can’t be cheating because Harry’s a man, and he’s not gay. It isn’t a convincing argument, and only raises more questions which he refuses to acknowledge. 

On the long drive home, he decides that this is one instance where, if he ignores it, it will actually go away. He’ll never see Harry again. There’s no need to think about what happened. It was a mistake. An accident. He was drunk. Harry’s pink lips tasted of tequila. His hair smelled like cloves. 

Louis squeezes his eyes shut tight, considering coming clean to Bridget when he gets home. He shakes his head, deciding against it. While telling her might ease his guilty conscience, it would only hurt her, and that’s the last thing he wants to do. 

One mistake. It’ll never happen again. 

≈≈≈≈≈

“You’re home early,” Bridget says when Louis walks through the kitchen door and tosses his keys into the bowl on the counter.

“Missed you,” Louis says, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and holding tight to it so his trembling hand is less evident. 

“Sweet boy,” Bridget says, pursing her lips. He leans in and kisses her quickly, hoping she can’t hear the pounding of his heart.

“I thought maybe I’d tag along. Go out shopping with you and Bo,” Louis says, setting his bag on the floor and shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re still planning on going?”

“Yep,” she says, reaching past him for her purse. “I’m meeting Andrea for lunch. Should be back around four. Would you like to join us? I really didn’t expect you home so early.”

“No, you go. Have fun with Andrea,” Louis says, kicking off his flip flops. “I’ll do some laundry. Maybe take a nap.”

“Okay, babe,” she says, waving as she walks out the door. 

Louis’ shoulders slump and he rests his palms flat on the counter, taking a shaky breath. He picks up his bag and hauls it to the laundry room, dumping everything directly into the washer. Even though he showered that morning, he feels dirty, so he takes his clothes off and stuffs them in the washing machine too. In the shower, while hot water cascades down his back, a sob escapes his throat. He swallows hard, turning to face the spray, letting his tears fall and wash down the drain. 

Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, he climbs into bed, burying his face in Bridget’s pillow, inhaling the floral scent of her shampoo. He falls into a fitful sleep, waking a few hours later. The physical effects of his hangover are gone, and he pushes the heavy guilt aside when Bo comes home, happy to see him. 

Shopping is surprisingly fun. He doesn’t usually join them because it’s always been their ‘girl time’ and he wouldn't want to intrude. It’s enough to distract him from his own mind, and he appreciates that they ask his opinion on the clothes they try on, even though he knows they don’t really care what he thinks. Eyerolls are all he gets in response to most of his comments. He can’t help it if he thinks all of the shorts and skirts are too short. 

Even if they only keep him around to carry their shopping bags, Louis is happy to be there. He’s glad to have something to occupy him, because tomorrow it’s back to work, and back to the beach. 

≈≈≈≈≈

It shouldn’t be so easy to forget about his indiscretion, but with the routine of his regular life, Louis finds that, after a few days, unless he intentionally thinks about it, the memory locks itself away. 

Weeks pass without the slightest reminder. At night, he climbs into bed beside Bridget the same way he has for almost twenty-five years. Of course, there was a time when they’d stay up late, discussing their plans for the future, but life got in the way a long time ago. They haven’t done that since Bo was little, probably talking about whether or not to have another baby. Or arguing about it. 

In the mornings, Louis greets the dawn already in the ocean. That first day back wasn’t easy, but Bo joined him the following morning, and since then, he’s been fine. Normal, even. 

Junior lifeguard training is due to start, and before it does, Louis has a meeting with Niall at the Ocean Grove Recreation Center, and Judy, the aquatics director there, who he’s worked with for years. They have to finalize the schedule. It’s not a big deal, more of a formality than anything, and Louis doesn’t mind spending part of his day in an air conditioned building. Plus, Judy always makes him take her out for drinks afterwards. 

He gets there around five, after spending all day on the beach, and running home to shower so Judy won’t give him a hard time about dragging sand into her pool. Though he never actually gets in the pool. 

When he walks through the automatic door, Louis pushes his sunglasses into his still damp hair, and waves at the people working the front desk. He turns towards Niall’s office, but it’s empty, so he heads for Judy’s office further down the hall. They must be waiting for him, even though he’s only a few minutes late. 

“Hey,” Louis says, leaning in through the open door, sunglasses threatening to slip off his head. He hooks them on the collar of his t-shirt and looks up. “You ready?”

“Louis!” Niall smiles up at him and cold dread pools in Louis’ stomach. “This is Harry Styles, my new Aquatics Director. Harry, this is Louis Tomlinson. Runs the beach service for the city.”

Harry recovers first, though he’s obviously surprised to see Louis, cheeks flushing as he stands from behind his desk, reaching out to offer his hand for Louis to shake. “We actually met at the S.O.L.O. conference a few weeks ago. Didn’t realize you lived here.”

Adrenaline zips through Louis’ veins, his fight or flight instinct telling him to run and never look back, but Louis takes Harry’s hand, shaking it, mind flashing to the memory of their first meeting on the ferry. Blinking, he remembers Harry’s hand cupping his jaw. 

Louis swallows hard, dropping Harry’s hand. “I didn’t mention I lived in Ocean Grove?”

“Nope,” Harry says. “Must’ve slipped your mind.”

Louis frowns, looking at Niall. “Where’s Judy?”

“Judy?” Niall scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Man, she quit a few months ago.”

“What happened?” Louis asks, finally able to think about something other than the black hole he feels like he’s being pulled into. 

“Not gossiping at work,” Niall says, patting the chair beside him. “I’m pretty sure I told you all about it when it happened, but I’ll explain later. Let’s get started.”

A little more than an hour later, despite his shower that afternoon and the air conditioned office, the armpits of Louis’ shirt are damp, the small of his back is sweaty, and his hands and face are clammy, all from spending that time in Harry’s presence. Not that Harry says anything inappropriate. If he’s anything, he’s professional. He even offers to move the water aerobics classes around, though Louis tells him it’s not necessary. 

They’ll have to see each other twice a week for eight weeks in the process of running the Junior Lifeguard program together. Louis is going to have to pull him aside and ask him to keep their secret. Hopefully it won’t be hard to convince him. 

“This all looks good,” Harry says, dragging a fingertip over the list of dates. 

“Great. Thanks for… everything,” Louis says, ready to escape to his truck and run home to shower yet again. 

“Alright, boys!” Niall pushes his chair back and says, “I’ve already invited the rest of the guys. They’re probably waiting for us at Whaley’s.”

“Whaley’s?” Harry asks. 

“Ni—” Louis starts, stopping when Niall starts to explain. 

“Sports bar, but they have great food. Judy used to make Louis go after they worked out the schedule, and Louis would drag us all along, but I figure it’s tradition,” Niall says, continuing even after Louis opens his mouth to speak. “And you should meet the guys, Harry. Am I wrong, or did you just complain to me yesterday about being new in town and not knowing anybody?”

“I, um… Yes, I did,” Harry says, pushing his chair back and standing. He leans over to shut down his computer, and Louis tries to come up with an excuse, but everything he thinks of involves Briget or Bo, and it feels unfair to bring them up. 

“Okay, Ni.” Sighing, Louis stands and says, “You want a ride?”

“Yeah,” Niall and Harry say at the same time. 

“Sorry,” Harry says. “I rode my bike to work, so unless it’s close…”

“No problem, man,” Niall says, stepping aside to let Louis and Harry leave the office first. “You can put your bike in the back of Louis’ truck and he can take you home later.”

“I… I wouldn’t want to impose,” Harry says, catching Louis’ eye. 

“Not an imposition,” Niall says before Louis can speak. “He has to bring me back to my car anyway.”

“Yeah, um… It’s not a problem,” Louis says. Maybe it’ll give him a chance to talk to Harry alone.

Harry locks his office, and they follow Niall out the side entrance to Louis’ truck. Niall voluntarily sits in the middle, letting Harry have the passenger seat to stretch his legs out. It shouldn’t make Louis feel like he’s missing out, not sitting pressed up against Harry’s side, but it does, and when he pushes the feeling down, nausea starts to build in its place.

At Whaley’s, Liam and Zayn are waiting for them, and thankfully they secured one of the long booths. As soon as he sees them, Louis excuses himself to the restroom. He wets a paper towel and wipes his face and the back of his neck, it helps a little, but not enough. When he gets back to the booth, he sits beside Niall even though he’s left handed and will probably elbow Louis throughout the evening. 

In his absence, basic introductions have been made, and he arrives in the middle of Niall explaining how they all know each other.

“—came for vacation and never left,” Niall says, and Zayn laughs. 

“That’s only partly true, man,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “I’d wanted to move down here for a while, but it just worked out that way.”

“He met me and didn’t want to leave,” Liam says, voice sugary sweet. 

“You make it sound like a romance novel,” Louis says, because they’ve all heard and told this story so many times. “When, in reality, his car broke down and he  _ couldn’t  _ leave.”

“Let them have their love story, Louis,” Niall says, elbowing him, and Louis scoots as close to the end of the booth as he can. “You can’t be the only—”

“Here we go, guys,” Shawn, their regular server, interrupts, setting their drinks in front of them. 

“I ordered your usual,” Niall says, and Louis nods his thanks. While they order dinner, Louis discreetly texts Bridget to let her know he won’t be there for dinner, though he told her that morning that he was meeting with Judy and would be late getting home. 

“Anyway,” Niall says, sipping his beer. He points his bottle at Liam and Zayn. “Like I said, let them have their love story. I’m still looking for mine. Not everyone marries their high school sweetheart.”

Huffing a laugh, Harry says, “My grandparents did.”

Niall grins. “Louis did, too, but like I said, not everyone does.”

“You’re married?” Harry asks, wide eyes darting from Louis’ face to his left hand wrapped around his cocktail. Louis’ stomach sinks and his mouth goes dry. “You aren’t wearing a ring.”

“He never wears it,” Niall says, and for once, Louis is thankful for Niall’s big mouth so he doesn’t have to be the one to explain. “Think he lost three in the ocean before he gave up. But yeah, he and Bridget were high school sweethearts.”

“Oh,” Harry says.

Liam leans across the table and says, “Bo said you’ve got a big anniversary this year.”

“Bo?” Harry asks.

“My daughter. Just graduated from high school,” Louis says, meeting Harry’s eyes and hoping his expression conveys how important it is that he keep his mouth shut. He looks at Liam and tells him, “Twenty-five years in August.”

“And that’s what? Thirty years together?” Niall asks, and Louis nods.

“Yep,” Louis says, taking a long drink when Harry leans back, frowning into his glass. Needing to change the subject, he asks, “Hey, so, what happened with Judy?” 

Liam scoffs, and says, “Niall told us when he came out parasailing with that preschool teacher he was seeing in… When was it? April? Spring break?” 

“Yep,” Niall says.

“Oh,” Louis says, sipping his cocktail. “I was beachside that day, Niall. Wasn’t out on the boat with you guys.”

“Well, she quit,” Niall says. 

“You said that already,” Louis says. “What happened?”

“She was having an affair with Jack,” Niall says, turning to Harry and adding, “He was my head trainer. Both of them were married to other people.”

“Oh… Wow,” Harry says, eyes boring into Louis’ as he asks, “Were? So, not anymore?”

“Nope,” Niall says, sipping his beer. “They got caught, and the shit hit the fan. They both quit. Think they planned to, like, run away together or something. Don't know what happened with that, but he’s working at the YMCA now, and she moved to Maryland to take care of her mom.”

“I get why you didn’t want to gossip at work,” Louis says, hiding his shaking hands in his lap. “Let’s talk about something else.”

≈≈≈≈≈

As anxious as Louis is, he sticks to his one drink, switching to plain seltzer when he finishes it. He can’t afford to let his guard down. As soon as Harry said he didn’t know Louis was married, Louis started sifting through his memories of their conversations in Hatteras. Just like he never mentioned where he lived, he never brought up Bridget or Bo, almost as if he left out the details of his life on purpose. 

Part of him—a nonsensical, warped, unfair part of him—wants to hate Harry for not knowing, for not asking the right questions, for moving to Ocean Grove, but he can’t. Louis was the only one who went into that night with all the information, and Louis is the one to blame. It’s easier to hate himself when Harry is so lovely. 

Louis watches Harry as he fits right into their little group of friends, splitting his attention between Niall, Zayn, and Liam, keeping the conversation going, focusing on each of them in turn, and really listening as they speak. Every now and then, Harry’s eyes flicker up to meet his and Louis can’t read his expression. But he makes it through the evening, even keeping up his end of the conversation. At least, no one seems to notice anything amiss. 

Afterwards, in the parking lot, Niall walks right past Louis’ truck, and Louis calls out, “Niall! Aren’t you riding with me?”

“Nah, man,” Niall says, spinning around to walk backwards. “Liam and Zayn’ll take me to my car. Harry lives on your end of town. Opposite directions.”

“Yeah, um… Okay,” Louis says, stopping behind his truck, and busying himself with checking that Harry’s bike is secure in the back. It is, and he knows it is, but he needs a moment to steady himself. He takes a breath and looks up across the truck bed to find Harry watching him. “Should be unlocked.”

Harry opens the passenger door and climbs inside. After one more deep breath, Louis slides behind the wheel. 

“Where are you staying?” Louis asks, focusing on backing out of the parking space so he doesn’t have to look over at Harry. 

“Rosewood Apartments,” Harry says, rolling down the window and leaning his head against the door. The shadows throw Harry’s sharp jawline into relief, and Louis finds he wants to trace it with his fingertip. “If you turn right—”

“I know where it is,” Louis says, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road as he pulls onto the highway. 

“Right. Forgot. You probably know where everything is here,” Harry says, and Louis glances over. Their eyes lock, and Louis remembers the flecks of gold in the brilliant green just before Harry kissed him the first time. 

“Most things, yeah,” Louis admits, trying to tamp down the memory of Harry’s body against his, the heat and the sweat and the taste of his skin. He tugs at the hem of his shorts. Maybe they’ll just make small talk until Louis grows the balls to talk about the elephant in the room. “I’ve lived here my whole life. Except for college.”

“I didn’t know you were married,” Harry says.

Maybe they won’t make small talk. 

“Please don’t tell anyone what— what we did,” Louis says, cringing before the words leave his mouth. 

“Who’s there to tell?” Harry huffs, and in his peripheral vision Louis can see him cross his arms. 

“Niall? Liam? Zayn? Anyone? Just please, keep it to yourself,” Louis says, searching for a way to explain. “I didn’t think— I really didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Harry snorts loudly. “I’m sure.”

Not knowing quite how to respond, Louis keeps his mouth shut, and they ride the rest of the way in silence. Rosewood Apartments are split into different buildings, with parking lots for each, and Harry points the way. 

“So, you’re not going to tell?” Louis asks because he has to be sure, and Harry rolls his eyes.

“Ridiculous,” Harry says, getting out of the truck. He lifts his bike out of the back and starts off, pushing it down the sidewalk with Louis right behind him.

“Hey, man, I’m just asking you to keep it to yourself,” Louis says, heart rate picking up at the thought of Bridget finding out. 

“You’re asking me to keep  _ your _ secret,” Harry says, not looking back at Louis.

“Yeah, I am,” Louis says, filled with trepidation at the prospect of having to explain it all to Bo, and horrified at what her reaction might be. If Harry doesn’t keep it to himself, Louis’ entire life will be ruined. He’s not even gay, for Christ’s sake. 

Heart in his throat, Louis grabs the back tire of Harry’s bike, jerking him to a stop, but Harry yanks his bike out of Louis’ grip and walks faster, turning up the sidewalk towards his building. 

“It’s a yes or no question,” Louis snaps when Harry stops in front of what must be his apartment. 

Ignoring Louis, Harry unlocks the door, and pushes his bike inside. 

“Harry, answer me!” Louis follows him through the door and Harry shuts it behind him, raising his eyebrows and not saying a word. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’m not going to tell on you, Louis,” Harry says, lowering his kickstand and moving his bike closer to the wall. 

The panic in Louis’ heart starts to subside, and he slumps back against the door, letting his eyes drift closed as he takes a relieved breath. Peeking through his eyelashes, Louis watches Harry comb his fingers through his hair. The streaks of white at his temples stand out in the dim light of his apartment. He must sense Louis’ gaze, eyes flickering up. 

“I thought…” Harry frowns, then pinches his lower lip. Shaking his head, he quickly steps closer, stopping mere inches away, and Louis sucks in a sharp breath. 

The second Louis’ lips part, Harry leans in, taking his mouth in a rough kiss, and Louis’ eyes fly wide open. He freezes, hands in midair, back against the door. Harry pulls away, searching Louis’ face, and Louis closes his eyes, afraid of what Harry might see in them. That he might know, just from his expression, how much Louis wants to kiss him again. 

Softly, Harry’s lips brush against his, and that’s all it takes for Louis to give in. He circles his arms around Harry's neck, pulling him in, and Harry presses the length of his body against Louis’, licking into his mouth. The taste of tequila lingers on Harry’s tongue, but Louis rids himself of the notion that he could blame this on alcohol; his one drink left his system hours ago. 

Harry nudges his nose to Louis’ cheek, kissing his jawline, and running his hands over Louis’ chest and stomach. He slips his fingers under the hem of Louis’ t-shirt, tracing the skin above the waistband of his underwear, and Louis whines quietly. Slowly, eyes steady on Louis’, Harry lowers himself to his knees, and unbuttons Louis’ shorts, pulling them down. 

Trapped behind his briefs, Louis’ cock pulses in time with his heartbeat, thickening up just from Harry's proximity to it. Harry mouths at the head through the fabric of Louis’ underwear, and Louis gasps. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that, if he’s ever been touched like that. Sure, Bridget’s sucked his— He pushes the thought from his mind, refusing to think of her when Harry’s kneeling in front of him, working his underwear down below his balls, and stroking him, licking the shaft from base to tip. 

Harry takes him down, bringing him to hardness with his mouth, and Louis’ legs tremble with the effort of holding him up. He lets his mind go and loses himself to the sensation of Harry’s tongue pressed firmly against the underside of his cock, his lips stretched around him, his fingertips teasing his balls, tugging them and stretching behind them. Louis moans, and Harry tongues at the head. 

Dropping his chin to his chest, Louis opens his eyes. He rests his hand on Harry’s head, needing to touch him, lightly scratching his scalp. Harry pushes against his hand and Louis tangles his fingers in his short curls. 

Heat unfurls in his stomach, his limbs tingle, and he comes, almost choking Harry with the force of his orgasm. Harry swallows around him, and Louis looks down, panting as Harry finishes jerking himself off, coming in his own hand. 

Louis lets his head fall back against the door, arms dangling uselessly at his sides, trying to catch his breath, while he watches through half-closed eyes as Harry gets to his feet. 

“You can go home to your wife now,” Harry says, smirking as he wipes the remnants of Louis’ release from his lips. 

Mouth hanging open, Louis scrambles to right his clothing, buttoning his shorts as he rushes outside. His cheeks burn, humiliated at the blatant dismissal, and shocked at Harry’s caustic words and tone. At least, in this instance, they can share the blame. 

≈≈≈≈≈

It’s not even a mile from Harry’s apartment to Louis’ house, but Louis doesn’t go home, not right away. 

He drives around aimlessly, until the tears streaming down his face dry up, then he stops at a gas station, filling up his truck and using the restroom. There’s no evidence on his clothes or his body, but he wipes himself down with wet paper towels, and splashes cold water on his face. 

When he pulls up to his house, he has to wait for the Uber blocking his driveway to move before he can park. Bo stands waiting for him by the garage door. 

“Out late,” Louis says, checking the time. It’s just before midnight. 

“I made curfew! And I could say the same to you,” she says, grinning at him. “Junior guard stuff all set?”

“Yeah, it’s done,” Louis says, leading her inside the house. “Keep it down. Your mom’s sleeping.”

“I know, Dad,” Bo says, and he can hear her rolling her eyes. “Night night.”

“Sleep tight,” Louis whispers. 

“Go to sleep or…” Bo sings quietly. 

“I might bite... you,” Louis sings back, leaning in to kiss her temple. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she says, heading for her bedroom. “See you at the beach.”

So that he doesn’t wake up his wife, Louis showers in the guest bathroom. All cried out, his movements are mechanical, and when he’s done, he quietly enters their room, finding a clean pair of boxers and pulling them on in the dark. 

As he settles in the bed, Bridget shifts to face away from him. A moment later, he rolls onto his side, turning his back to her and staring at the shadows on the wall. Eventually, he falls into a restless sleep. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Saturday, he greets the dawn alone in the water. There are other surfers out, but no one he knows well, and they don’t do more than nod their greetings. He spends more than an hour out there, thinking of nothing but the waves, and it helps to clear his mind of other things. There’s less regret this time, and he can only figure it’s because he and Harry are both at fault. 

He goes to the garage first, to help get the frozen lemonade carts set up, and calls out assignments while standing in the back of his truck. Another truck full of lifeguards pulls onto the road and Louis helps get one of the push carts unstuck from the soft sand next to the sidewalk before unclipping his radio from his belt. 

“Heading to the boat. Over.” Louis sets the radio in the cupholder, and he’s on his way to the beach before Liam responds.

“Here waiting on you. Over and out.”

While Louis got everything else ready to go, Liam drove the parasailing boat over, and Zayn hauled the jet skis and banana boat down to the water, so that when Louis joins them on the beach, all he has to do is put on his life jacket, smear some extra zinc oxide on his nose, and climb into the small boat that they use to taxi people to and from the larger parasailing boat, which is anchored just past the buoys. 

The first thing he sees when he shows up at the beach is Liam pressing a kiss to Zayn’s cheek, and it fills him with a mix of anxiety and envy that makes him stop and stare, unblinking. He forces himself to move over to where Bo’s setting up the bike rentals, stopping to help her.

“Missed you in the water this morning,” Louis says, anchoring the umbrella beside her chair. 

“I don’t know how you get up so early every single day. Must be an old person thing,” Bo says, lining up another bike, and laughing when Louis kicks sand at her legs. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I was tired this morning.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Louis says, taking off his hat and putting it on her head. He has another one on the boat. “Drink plenty of water today. It’s supposed to be hot.”

“It’s always hot, Dad,” she says, tugging her ponytail through the back of his hat and pulling it down low over her eyes. “It’s summer.” 

“Just looking out for you,” Louis says. “See you tonight?”

“Yeah, mom’s supposed to make salmon,” Bo says, settling back in her chair. 

“When you were little you—”

“Used to call it pork,” she finishes for him. “You say that every time we eat salmon.”

“It was cute!” Louis laughs, propping his hands on his hips. “Baby Bo said the cutest things.”

She sits up in her chair, pointing past him. “I’ve got a customer.”

“Okay, I’ll get out of your way,” Louis says, taking a few steps backwards. He turns and jogs away, looking back to wave and call out, “Have a good day!”

Near the rack of lifejackets, is a man with short, dark, wavy hair, and for a split second, Louis thinks it’s Harry, but it’s not. When he gets closer, and can see more than just the man’s build and hair, he wonders how he could mistake him for Harry at all. He’s too tall, his face is the wrong shape, his lips are too thin, chin too pointy, and Harry is gorgeous. Louis shakes his head. If he can just get on the boat, he’ll have things to focus on besides the puzzle of his own emotions. 

It works. He’s so busy that he almost forgets Harry exists. At the end of the day, he and Liam switch places, Liam takes the big boat back to the docks, and he takes the smaller boat to shore, helping pack everything up and close down for the day. He hooks the trailer with the banana boat and jet skis to Liam’s truck for Zayn to haul back to the garage, and stops, resting his hands on his hips, trying to decide how to approach Zayn without seeming obvious.

“Thanks, man,” Zayn says, and Louis laughs quietly. 

Sucking his lower lip between his teeth, Louis inhales deeply through his nose. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Zayn says, leaning against the banana boat like he’s expecting a long conversation. Hopefully it’ll only be a moment.

Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose so his eyes are hidden, Louis asks, “When did you know you were gay? Like, when did you realize?”

“Oh, um…” Zayn clears his throat, lifting his hand to wave at Bo as she pulls out of the parking lot. Louis waves, too, though he’ll see her at home, then turns back to Zayn, who says, “I think I always had an idea I wasn’t straight. But I was probably twelve when I figured it out, and like, knew what it meant.”

“Okay,” Louis says, nodding quickly. 

“Liam, though. He didn’t know until college,” Zayn says with a shrug. “It varies, I guess is what I’m saying.”

“Yeah?” Louis scratches his beard, pursing his lips. 

“And, um, knowing doesn’t necessarily mean telling other people,” Zayn says. “Coming out’s a whole different ball game.”

“Thanks, man,” Louis says, taking a step back. “I was just, um, curious.”

“No problem,” Zayn says, pushing off of the banana boat. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” Louis says, waving and starting for the beach. 

After Louis double checks that the beach is clean, he hops into his truck, and his phone rings like it’s been waiting for him. When he sees it’s Niall calling, he realizes that’s probably true. Of all people, he knows that Louis spends Saturdays on the parasail boat and doesn’t take his phone out on the water. 

Thankful for the distraction from his own thoughts, Louis taps the screen to connect his phone to the speakers in his truck, and answers, “What’s up, Ni?”

“Hey, busy day?” Niall asks, though he must know. Saturdays are crazy in the summer. 

“Yeah, you need something?” Louis asks, pulling onto the road towards the beach service storage garage. “Or you just calling to say hello?”

“I had an idea, and I want to run it past you, but I know you’re going to say yes,” Niall says, and Louis rolls his eyes. “You saw the presentation Harry gave in Hatteras, right?”

The air leaves Louis’ lungs in a rush, and the turmoil he’s been trying to ignore comes back so fast it gives him whiplash. He croaks out, “Yeah.”

“Right, so I was talking to him about it, and I had an idea. Harry thinks it’s a good one, but I wanted to run it by you. I guess, what I’m trying to say, is I’ve got a proposal for you.” 

Louis zones out, letting Niall run his mouth while he tries to figure out a way to get out of it without looking like an asshole or raising any questions. When Niall finishes talking, Louis hasn’t come up with a single legitimate excuse. 

“Yeah, sounds good, man,” Louis says, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “We can work something out. It’d be good to have a regular drowning prevention program.”

“Yes! Listen, I’ll let Harry know, and you guys can decide when to meet up,” Niall says, letting out a little whoop. “See you tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll be there,” Louis says, sighing heavily after he hangs up. 

He unloads his truck and helps clean out the push carts while Zayn helps the guards hose down their equipment. They usher everyone out, and Zayn leaves to meet Liam at the docks. Louis heads home. He goes in through the side door, leaving his sandy flip flops in the garage, and heading straight for the shower. Bridget isn’t home, and the door to Bo’s room is shut, which means she’s probably napping, so he leaves her alone. 

≈≈≈≈≈

After his shower, Louis studies his face in the mirror. He doesn’t look gay. Or he doesn’t think so. Maybe he looks bisexual. Again, he doesn’t think so, but he also doesn’t know what that might look like. Of course, he clearly doesn’t know what gay looks like, either, considering he didn’t realize Harry was gay at first. Maybe Harry’s not gay. Maybe he’s bisexual. Or something else. There are other sexualities, he’s sure of it, but he cannot for the life of him remember what they are. 

He leans closer to the mirror, inspecting his silver hair, staring hard at the few brown strands that are left at the front and top. God, he’s such an idiot. It doesn’t matter if he’s gay or bi or anything, really, when he’s married. Yet, here he is, worrying about it, wasting his time wondering, and thinking about Harry, when he should be thinking of anything but. 

His mind is a mess. Louis takes a deep breath, blowing his damp hair off his forehead. When he’s dressed, he goes out to the living room and lays on the couch, turning on the television and flipping through the channels until he falls asleep. 

“Dad, wake up,” Bo says, shaking him until he opens his eyes. “You’re on top of the remote.”

“Oh, sorry,” Louis says, sitting up and handing the remote to her. “Where’s your mom?”

“On her way. She forgot about the salmon. Said she picked up Chinese.”

Louis groans and rubs his stomach.

“Yeah, I had Chinese, like, twice last week,” Bo says, leaning back in the recliner and turning on a video about sea turtles. “But whatever.”

“I’m hungry enough that it doesn’t matter, I guess, but I was looking forward to salmon.”

“Can you cook it on the grill tomorrow?” Bo asks, and Louis nods. 

“Yeah, I can do that,” Louis says, pushing himself up off the couch. He opens the door for Bridget, and they divy up the food, settling around the kitchen table to eat. 

“Niall asked me to do something today, and I wanted to run it by you guys,” Louis says, hoping his anxiety isn’t audible. Bo and Bridget look at him expectantly, and he figures he might as well get it over with. “He wants me to help run a drowning prevention program with his new aquatics director.”

“New director?” Bo asks, frowning at her sweet and sour chicken. “What happened to Judy?”

“Judy’s up in Maryland now, taking care of her mom,” Louis says, leaving out the messy bits. He also glosses over his knowledge of Harry. It seems for the best. “Her replacement is a guy named Harry, and apparently, he’s really into, like, the public ed side of things. He and Niall want to do something where we have free, um… seminars, I guess?”

“Oh, that sounds great, Dad,” Bo says, nodding, eyes wide. 

“It does,” Bridget agrees. “At the rec center or the beach or somewhere else?”

“All three, maybe,” Louis says, pushing his food around with his fork. “You know how Niall tends to get ahead of himself. He mentioned us holding the seminars up and down the beach. So it’d take some maneuvering as far as my schedule goes.”

“Would it be worth it?” Bridget asks, popping a piece of broccoli into her mouth.

“I think so,” Louis says honestly. “We’re talking, like, half a day, maybe, for each one, to drive to the YMCA or the various rec centers in the area. Set up, take down, etcetera. We have to work out what we’ll actually be doing at the seminars, but that’ll probably evolve as we go.”

“Well, I think it sounds like a really good idea,” Bridget says, reaching over and patting Louis’ hand. “You said the guy’s name is Harry? What’s he like?”

“Um… He’s gay.” Louis shoves a big bite of egg roll into his mouth. There are a million acceptable things he could’ve said, but no.

“Dad!” Bo sits up straight in her chair and scolds him, “You can’t just out people like that.”

Swallowing hard, Louis reaches for his water and takes a sip, then clears his throat. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. But, I mean, it’s just you two. And you don’t care.”

“No, we don’t,” Bridget says, shaking her head. “But you shouldn’t spread gossip.”

“It’s not gossip, Bridget,” Louis says. “He _ is _ gay. And I’m pretty sure he’s out.”

“Well, if he told you, I’m sure he is, but still,” Bridget says, trailing off as if the subject is now closed, and Louis realizes it is. Because Harry’s never explicitly told him anything about his sexuality. All Louis has is his assumption. And his first hand knowledge. 

“Anyway, he’s a nice guy, very passionate about drowning prevention and lifesaving,” Louis says quickly, standing up and taking his food to the kitchen. Suddenly, he isn’t very hungry. 

“And gay,” Bo says, giggling into her glass of Dr. Pepper. “As you said.”

“Please don’t tell anyone,” Louis says, and the words echo in his ears, mind flashing back to the previous night, begging Harry not to tell. He tries to take a steadying breath, but it catches in his throat. “I’m, um… I have a headache, so I’m going to go lay down.”

“Not enough water today,” Bo says, smiling and pointing at him. “You know it’s been hot. You need to drink more water.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Louis says, trying to joke, but feeling like he might throw up.

“Feel better, Dad. See you in the morning,” Bo says, standing up to give him a hug.

“Good night, babe,” Bridget says, leaning her head back and pursing her lips. He quickly kisses her, and disappears into the bedroom.

When Bo was a baby, and Bridget went to get her hair cut for the first time in months, Louis stayed home with her alone, just the two of them. It was a brand new experience, and he’d been excited for it. Daddy and daughter time. But then Bo didn’t want to take the bottle he tried to feed her, and started to cry. Her crying turned to screaming sobs, and no matter what he did, she wouldn’t stop. 

All he wanted to do was shake her and make her shut up, but he didn’t. He set her in her crib and made sure she was safe and then he went outside to get away for a few minutes. Still, he was so disgusted with himself and ashamed of his behavior, when he didn’t really do anything wrong, but didn't know what to do to make things right. Even after he went back inside to find a quiet Bo, smiling up at him from her crib, in the dirtiest diaper he’d ever seen, he felt sick with guilt for hours. 

He’s never hated himself as much as he did that day. Until now. Because, yes, these drowning prevention seminars are a good idea, but even after last night, all he can think is that they’ll allow him to be with Harry. And not necessarily in a sexual way. He merely wants to spend time in his presence. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	3. Chapter 3

≈≈≈≈≈

Sunday morning, Bo is awake and waiting when Louis gets up, and they ride to the beach together. 

“Think we’ll get some storms this afternoon,” Louis says, grabbing his board from the back of his truck. 

Bo yawns, and ties her long, blonde hair up on top of her head. She follows Louis onto the beach, and into the water. They sit, floating on their boards, watching the sky slowly lighten. 

“Hey, there’s Zayn and Liam,” Bo says, paddling around to face the shore. 

“Good,” Louis says, laying on his stomach and paddling in front of a wave. Zayn and Liam are at the beach every day, and they don’t usually join Louis in the mornings, except on Sundays. The waves aren’t big, but at least they’re not choppy, and Louis rides one in, paddling back out beside them.

It’s lovely, enjoying the silence of the morning. 

“Louis!” Niall’s voice rings out across the beach, and Louis closes his eyes. He loves Niall, really. And Louis isn’t a quiet person, but sometimes Niall is too loud. 

“Oh, is that… It’s Harry,” Liam says, and Louis’ eyes fly open. 

Louis’ muscles tense, and he fights to relax them. When Niall raises his arm and waves, Louis waves back, but his gaze falls on Harry. Arms, chest, muscles, stomach, tan, long legs, yellow shorts. It’s a struggle to put together a coherent thought. 

Looking away, he takes a shaky breath. Bo paddles closer, and Louis focuses on her, curling his back and leaning down on his board as she approaches. 

“Bo-Bo-Bo-Bo-Bo—” she splashes him in the face and he sputters, spitting salt water. “So mean to your dear, old father.”

She sits up, and says, “Stop it. You’re not old.”

“Says you,” Louis says, nodding to the wave behind him. “Mine.”

With six of them in the water, they spread out a little, and Louis avoids Harry completely. When Harry catches his first wave, Niall paddles over to tell Louis how excited he is for him and Harry to work together. All Louis can do is smile and nod.

The beach service doesn’t start until eight, so around six-thirty, Louis rides a wave in, picks up his board and waits. One at a time, the others ride in as well, Bo first after Louis, and Harry last, thankfully. 

As soon as Harry joins them on the sand, Niall says, “Pancake time!”

“Pancake time?” Harry asks, wiping the salt water from his lips, the same way he wiped away Louis’ come before his rude dismissal. Louis looks down at his feet.

“We go to the pancake house on Sundays,” Zayn says. “Obviously, you’re invited, Harry.”

“Oh, thanks,” Harry says, and Louis meets his eyes. 

“I’m Bo,” Bo says, and Louis knows she’s annoyed that she has to introduce herself. She sticks her hand out, and Harry takes it, shaking it.

“Nice to meet you, Bo,” Harry says, sounding sincere. “I’m Harry. Heard you’re a recent graduate.”

“Yeah, but high school,” Bo says, scoffing quietly. “I start college in August.”

“Going to a four-year university or…” Harry trails off, raising his eyebrows, and Louis has the urge to scream at him for daring to carry on a conversation with his daughter, as if he has any right to speak to her at all.

“UNC Chapel Hill,” Bo says, and Harry smiles.

“That’s not too far from home then,” Harry says, glancing at Louis. “I’m sure your mom and dad like that you’ll be close.”

“Dad tried to get me to go to Notre Dame,” Bo says, bumping Louis’ hip. 

“It was just a suggestion,” Louis says, shaking his head, and tamping down his building anger with Harry. Mentioning Bridget, even if not by name, starts Louis’ stomach spinning. “Pancakes are a now or never thing, guys. I’ve got work at eight.”

“Let’s go!” Niall yells, picking up his board and running up the beach towards the showers. 

When they’re all rinsed off and at least have shirts on with their wet board shorts, they drive up the road to the Griddle House for breakfast. Pamela, the owner, meets them at the door, and leads them to their regular table, a round booth in the corner that easily seats six. 

Like they do every Sunday, Zayn and Liam slide into the left side, Bo slides into the right, scooting around to the middle, and Louis follows her in. Too late, he realizes what he’s done. 

“Go on, Harry,” Niall says, nudging him towards the booth beside Louis. “I’m a lefty. Got to be on the outside.”

“Oh, um…” Harry sits down, and immediately, Niall does too, practically shoving Harry over. He crosses his legs at the knee, and Louis shouldn’t be looking at the line of muscle in his thighs, so he picks up a menu. They’re still visible in his peripheral vision. 

“Louis, you order the same thing every week,” Liam says, snatching his menu away. “I, however, would like to decide what kind of omelet to have today.”

“I was just about to give it to Harry,” Louis says, picking up a little creamer cup and flipping it before pouring it into his waiting coffee cup. 

“Harry,” Bo says, reaching across Louis and tapping Harry on the forearm. “Get the Griddle Special. It’s three of their signature secret recipe pancakes, two eggs, bacon or sausage, and grits.”

“You had me at secret recipe,” Harry says, closing the menu. He uncrosses his legs, brushing against Louis’ thigh. It’s not intentional, or it doesn’t seem that way, but Louis feels like he might catch fire where they touch. 

They order and Louis chugs his first cup of coffee just to keep his hands and mouth occupied. He reaches for the pot on the table to refill his cup, but Harry picks it up and pours it for him, offering to refill everyone else’s cup as well. 

“Thanks,” Louis mutters. 

“Welcome,” Harry says, turning his head and smiling. 

It’s horrible sitting there beside Harry, because every atom in Louis’ body feels drawn to him. He has to keep a tight grip on himself, or he’ll touch him without meaning to. 

The server brings their food, and in the commotion of passing plates and moving things out of the way to make room on the table, Louis winds up with his shin pressed against the back of Harry’s calf. He looks down, and there are a few inches between their thighs on the seat of the booth. Nothing is visible past their knees. 

Louis leans forward, reaching for the warm maple syrup, and slightly shifts his foot, feeling the hair on their legs rub together. Harry pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, and the corner of his lips twitch. He moves his leg just a little, but not away from Louis’ touch. 

They stay like that until Bo gets up to go to the restroom, and it pulls Louis out of his reverie, reminding him that he’s at breakfast with his friends and his daughter, and that he’s married, for Christ’s sake. After that, it feels too intentional to do it again, so Louis refrains. Harry knocks their knees together once when he’s facing Niall, in mid-conversation. A smile tugs at Louis’ lips, and he turns to talk to Bo. 

Louis goes into work with a spring in his step, but his good mood doesn’t last. One of the first customers he talks to has the same hairstyle as Bridget, and when he sees her, shame floods his body. He works hard all day, not taking any breaks, and moves around, helping with jet skis and bike rentals and banana boats and life jackets fittings. He won’t let himself stop long enough to get stuck in his head. Especially when berating himself doesn’t change anything. He knows, or he hopes, that something else will happen with Harry. At least once more. The anticipation of spending time with him, the two of them alone, buzzes in his veins. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Despite Louis’ desires, he and Harry don’t see each other until the initial Junior Lifeguard class the following Tuesday. It takes place at the Ocean Grove Recreation Center pool, and after leaving the beach, Louis hurries home to shower and change. He stops himself from styling his hair, and bypasses his cologne, but he does trim his beard. It was too shaggy anyway. 

There’s no thinking about his clothes. His dark blue shorts with the beach service emblem on one thigh and the word lifeguard in all capital letters on the other, as well as his white lifeguard tank, and flip flops, are what he wears every year to every Junior Guard class. He does check to make sure there are no stray nose or ear hairs, just in case. 

On the drive over, he goes through his usual routine in his head, not wanting to give himself away or make anyone suspicious by acting any differently. He parks where he always parks, and leaves his sunglasses in his truck, fussing with his hair in the rear view mirror before getting out and tugging on the hem of his tank top. 

First, he figures he should stop by Niall’s office to say hello, so he swings around the door frame, and says, “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Niall says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Harry’s already on the pool deck. I think he’s nervous.”

“Oh?” Louis scratches his jaw, and says, “Guess I’ll go on in then.”

“Yeah, distract him or something,” Niall says, looking back at his computer. “Push him in the pool.”

Louis huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as his cheeks start to heat. Pushing Harry in the pool wasn’t the type of distraction that popped into Louis’ mind. He says goodbye and crosses the hall to the employee entrance to the pool deck, finding Harry just inside the door, staring at his clipboard. His eyes flicker up, and he stops chewing on his lower lip.

“Hi,” Harry says, clearing his throat, and tapping his pencil on the clipboard. 

“Stage fright?” Louis asks quietly, and Harry blinks, like he needs a moment to process Louis’ words. When Harry nods, Louis says, “Niall told me to push you in the pool.”

Stepping away from the edge of the pool, Harry asks, “What? Why?” 

“To distract you. He said you were nervous,” Louis says, looking around to make sure there’s no one close enough to hear. “Listen, I’ve done this a million times, so I can do most of the talking.”

“Okay,” Harry says, but his expression doesn't change, and he doesn’t stop frowning at his clipboard. 

“I can see your nipples through your shirt,” Louis says, clamping his mouth shut to keep from saying any other stupid thoughts that pop into his head. 

“Seriously?” Harry hisses, looking down at his chest. His nipples are clearly visible through the thin white fabric of his fitted t-shirt. “Oh my god, I have to change.”

“Wait! You—” Louis trails close behind him as Harry makes his way around the pool, feeling awful for pointing out something that Harry might consider a flaw. He would've said the same to Niall, but Niall would’ve laughed it off and pinched Louis’ nipple for revenge. It didn’t occur to him that Harry might actually be embarrassed, but the pink crawling up the back of his neck says he is. Following Harry into the men’s employee locker room, Louis says, “It’s not that noticeable!”

“You noticed,” Harry says, spinning the dial on his locker. There’s a piece of painter’s tape with ‘Styles’ written in black marker in neat block letters above the vents in the locker door, covering the name plate of whoever used it before Harry. 

“Yeah, but that’s me,” Louis says, as if it explains anything. Opening his locker, Harry glances over his shoulder at him, narrowing his eyes. He faces his locker again, taking off his t-shirt to reveal the smooth, tan skin of his back, and Louis realizes how close he’s standing. Quickly, Louis looks around, but they’re alone. He whispers, “I can’t help but notice you.”

Harry stills, bright red t-shirt in his hands. He takes a deep breath, rib cage expanding, muscles of his back shifting with it, and Louis wants nothing more than to trace the curve of his spine. Reaching out a tentative hand, Louis slowly drags his fingertip from the base of Harry’s neck, over every vertebra, to the waistband of his shorts. When Harry doesn’t move away, Louis leans in, leaving a lingering kiss on his shoulder blade, the touch of Harry’s skin a welcoming warmth on his lips. He breathes him in, then takes two steps back, and Harry pulls his shirt on, turning to look at Louis while smoothing the fabric over his chest.

“It’s mutual,” Harry says quietly. “We should, um… We should get back out there.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, reaching for the door. They walk back onto the pool deck and the cacophony of voices echoing off the cavernous walls is jarring after the virtual silence of the locker room. 

While it wasn’t his intention, the moment alone together appears to have done the trick. Harry no longer seems nervous, and when the clock strikes six, he blows his whistle, silencing the crowd of kids. 

“Welcome to Junior Lifeguard training!” Harry announces, taking in the bleachers full of kids. “I’m Harry, this is Louis, and we’ll be your instructors this summer. Some of you participated in the winter program, right?”

There’s muttering and a few raised hands. Someone shouts, “Yes, sir!”

Louis calls out, “If you completed the winter program or last summer’s program, stand up. Everybody else, sit down.”

About a third of the kids stand, and Harry asks a few questions, quizzing them on what they remember. He then divides everyone into groups with those who’ve previously completed training evenly split, so none of the groups are solely made up of beginners. 

Two hours later, all Louis can smell is chlorine, but the first class has been a success. He and Harry work together well, though he had his suspicions that would be the case. 

Standing by the open door, they say goodbye to their charges, and when the last one leaves, Harry says, “I don’t know if you need to leave, but I was thinking we could talk about the drowning prevention seminar. Get the planning done.”

“Judy always made me buy her McDonald’s after the first class,” Louis says, though it’s not really an answer. 

“I could eat a Big Mac,” Harry says, nodding towards his office. “Just let me get my things.”

“Did you ride your bike?” Louis asks, wondering if tonight will end like Friday night. Even if it ends with a blow job against the door of Harry’s apartment, he doesn’t think he’ll wind up in tears this time. He does feel guilty, but the high from being in Harry’s presence, from knowing that Harry wants him, and wants to spend time with him, overshadows it. 

“No, I drove,” Harry says, leading him down the hall towards his office. “Maybe I’ll ride it more when it’s not so hot out. Got tired of showing up for work drenched in sweat.”

“Oh,” Louis says, mind caught on the image of Harry wiping sweat from his bare chest. “Do you want to drive separately or…”

“You could ride with me,” Harry offers, stepping into his office. He grabs his laptop and slides it into a backpack, jingling his keys. 

“Yeah, okay.” Louis nods, leaning into the hall to see if Niall’s door is open, but it’s not, and from the narrow window, it looks like the lights are off. Still, while Harry’s locking his office, Louis walks down to make sure Niall’s gone. 

Harry’s car turns out to be an older Jeep Cherokee. It’s black, and a little beat up, with a bike rack on the back with the spare tire. The passenger seat is full of papers and empty water bottles, and Harry apologizes for the mess as if Louis cares when he gets to watch Harry flounder around with full hands, hurrying to clean it and make space for Louis. He finally tosses it all onto the back seat, biting his lip when he turns to Louis and gestures at the now empty front seat. 

At the McDonald’s Drive Thru, Harry orders two Big Mac meals, and refuses to take Louis’ money or let him open the bag. For a moment, Louis thinks he’s driving back to the rec center, but he goes past it, and down the narrow road that leads to the Intracoastal Waterway. He turns into an old parking lot, the asphalt cracked and littered with potholes, and pulls up to the very edge, stopping directly in front of a tall, chain link fence bordering the tiny, private airport. 

Louis looks over at him. “What are you—” 

In the dimming twilight, a small plane starts moving towards them, and Louis sits back in his seat. The sound of its engines grows louder as it approaches, and then, nose lifting first, it takes off. It flies over them, and just before it passes out of sight, the landing gear disappears inside the plane. Lolling his head to the side, Louis grins, and Harry passes him the McDonald’s bag.

“I come here on my lunch break,” Harry says, sipping his Dr. Pepper. 

“I’ve never— I mean, I’ve driven by here before, but I’ve never thought to stop,” Louis says, fishing some loose fries from the bottom of the bag. 

“It’s plane after plane during the day,” Harry says, pointing at the flashing lights on the runway. “Banner planes, mostly. Sometimes they miss picking up the banner and have to circle around to try again.”

“And you come here alone?” Louis asks, and Harry nods. “Every day?”

“I mean, not my days off,” Harry says. “But yeah. I get a little time to recharge, and then I go back to work.”

“I don’t really take a lunch break. I eat on the boat or in my truck when I’m driving between different parts of the beach,” Louis says, wondering if it’d even be possible to get a true break with how he works. “It'd be nice to sit here for a little while every day. I— I’m not— I wouldn’t interrupt your alone time.”

Harry watches him for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, it’s more like I’m getting away from the noise,” Harry explains, he faces forward and Louis watches his profile in the twilight. “I get plenty of time alone.”

When they finish eating, Harry leans over the console, and Louis blinks, expecting a kiss, but instead, Harry reaches behind his seat for his backpack. He scrunches his nose, pursing his lips, and Louis somehow just knows he did it on purpose, as if Louis needs to be more off-balance than he already feels. 

Narrowing his eyes, Louis turns sideways in the seat. He waits for Harry to open his laptop, then says, “Okay, what are you thinking?”

They get about an hour’s worth of work done: adjustments to Harry’s existing presentation to include demonstrations, and a number necessary additions, since they’ll be talking to larger groups of people of various ages, some of whom may not have had any prior water safety education. 

Louis takes the lid off his cup and pops a piece of ice in his mouth, crunching it obnoxiously, eyes wide while he stares at Harry. He forgot how much fun they had together, and how quickly they clicked when they first met. 

“Niall started letting people sign up this past weekend, and he already put it on the website that we’re doing it at the pool next Sunday at nine,” Harry says, setting his backpack behind his seat. “So, a week and a half to prepare. Is that okay with you?”

“It’s fine.” Louis laughs quietly. “I’m surprised Niall didn’t start advertising it before he asked me to do it.”

Harry bites his lip, scrolling through the calendar on his phone. “How much practice do you think we need?”

“I thought we’d wing it,” Louis says, after all, they’ll need volunteers from the audience, and Harry already has most of the information memorized. It’s not that different from what they do in the Junior Lifeguards classes. 

“I’m not the wing it type with stuff like this,” Harry says with a huff. “What about Thursday, after Junior Guards?”

“That works,” Louis says, and smiles when Harry adds it to his calendar. Maybe they can get some of the kids to stay and act as volunteers. His own phone dings, and Louis pulls it from his pocket, belatedly realizing he never let Bo or Bridget know he was staying late to work with Harry. 

“Do you need to go?” Harry asks, nodding at Louis’ phone. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, locking his phone. “Bo wants me to bring her a donut.”

“I want a donut,” Harry says, and Louis laughs as he quickly backs out of the parking space. “Might as well go all out. I don’t normally eat fast food, so… Krispy Kreme?”

“Yeah, I’ll get a dozen, take the rest to the beach in the morning,” Louis says, buckling his seat belt. 

The night certainly doesn’t end like Friday did. Harry drops him off at his truck, waving with a half-eaten donut in his hand, and Louis goes home without having touched him since the locker room. 

≈≈≈≈≈

On Thursday, the second Junior Lifeguard class goes just as well as the first, and when the kids file out of the pool area at eight o’clock, Louis and Harry get set up to practice for the drowning prevention seminar. 

“Can’t believe none of the kids wanted to stay and help,” Louis says, and Harry shrugs.

“It was last minute, and most of them had parents waiting,” Harry says, lining up the rescue can, tube, and ring beside the pool. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you drown.”

“Hilarious,” Louis says, pointing at the storage room door near the smaller therapy pool. “We could use the rescue training dummy.”

“Sure,” Harry says, tossing Louis his keys. “It’s the blue one.”

Louis hauls Derek the Dummy, as he was christened by the Junior Lifeguards class two years ago, out to the pool deck, and lays him down. 

There’s nothing for Harry to be worried about. He knows the entire presentation by heart, and easily includes Louis and the demonstrations. Derek the Dummy does a great job as a substitute for a human volunteer, and they wrap up in just short of an hour. With a question and answer period, they should hit the hour mark without issue. 

“That wasn’t too bad,” Harry says, standing beside Derek, hands on his hips. 

“You’ll be fine, Harry,” Louis says, picking up the rescue ring and hanging it back on the wall where it belongs. “Honestly, I don’t know what you’re worried about. You have no reason to be nervous.”

“I can’t control it,” Harry says with a huff, picking up the rescue can and tube and starting for the storage closet. With Derek in his arms, Louis follows behind him.

“I know that. But you’ve done fine with Junior Guards, and you did fine in— in Hatteras,” Louis says, standing aside while Harry opens the storage room. Harry stares at him, as if waiting for Louis to make the connection. “Oh…”

“I’m okay if I don’t focus on the anxiety. If I have something else to concentrate on,” Harry says, taking Derek and laying him on the shelf in the storage room. “And I think, after the first seminar, I’ll be okay.”

Why his first instinct is always to make a joke out of everything, Louis doesn’t know, but he says, “So, if I push you in the pool, you’ll have something else to concentrate on?”

Harry locks the storage room, turning to scowl at Louis before walking past him. “Do  _ not  _ push me into the pool, Louis.” 

“Push you into the pool?” Louis asks, laughing and reaching out to tickle Harry’s side. 

Jumping sideways, Harry swats at his hand. “Don’t do it.”

“Do it?” Louis asks, because at forty-seven, he has the flirting skills of a twelve-year old boy with his first crush. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to shut up,” Harry says, not letting Louis bait him, which is no fun at all. 

“Oh… You want me to push you in the pool,” Louis says, but Harry doesn’t respond. 

Assuming he’s passed by charmingly annoying and moved into annoyingly annoying territory, Louis sighs, hurrying to catch up so he can apologize. He falls into step beside Harry, and looks over, opening his mouth to say he’s sorry, but before he can speak, Harry shoves him with both hands. Louis screeches as he sails through the air, instinctively holding his breath when he hits the water. 

As soon as Louis breaks the surface, he hears Harry’s honking laugh echoing around the pool deck. He swims for the edge, grabs the concrete side, and kicks hard, pulling himself out of the pool and sitting down, legs dangling into the water.

“Can’t believe you did that,” Louis says, shaking his head hard and sending droplets of water flying. 

“Please,” Harry says, squatting down beside him. “It was you or me, and we both know it.”

Scoffing loudly, Louis turns to look at him through narrowed eyes, tightening his grip on the edge of the pool. Harry glances down at Louis’ flexing fingers, and in that second, Louis reaches up and pushes Harry’s ass forward, sending him toppling into the pool. Eyes closed with how hard he’s laughing, Louis doesn’t see Harry until it’s too late. Harry wraps his hands around both of Louis’ ankles and pulls, and Louis has no choice but to shove himself away from the side. It’s that or risk hitting his head on the concrete. 

Under the water, Louis opens his eyes to find Harry staring at him, bubbles escaping his mouth and floating up as he laughs. Louis can’t help himself. He closes the distance between them and kisses Harry, knocking their noses together hard enough to hurt. Heads above the water again, they stare at each other, then Louis swims back a bit, remembering where they are. Silently, they head for the side to climb out. 

“I wish I could shower,” Louis says, squeezing some of the water from his tank top. 

“You can,” Harry says, pointing to the employee locker rooms. 

“I don’t have clothes, so unless you want me to go home naked, I—”

“We have rec center shirts, and I have, um… I keep extra shorts in my locker,” Harry says, nodding towards the door. 

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, and Harry leads the way. He stops by the bleachers to slip on his flip flops, and checks the big clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes ’til closing?”

“Yep, better hurry,” Harry says, pushing the door open. 

Any thoughts of inappropriate locker room behavior leave Louis’ mind the second they walk through the door and he hears water running and someone singing. They take shower stalls side by side, and Harry passes his shampoo and soap over the divider for Louis to use. He dries off as much as he can while still inside the stall, then wraps the little towel with the rec center logo on it around his waist.

“Here, um…” Harry hands him a bundle of folded clothes, and says, “I had some shirts in my locker too, but if you’d rather have—” 

“This is good,” Louis says, setting the clothes on the bench and looking around the locker room. One of the personal trainers is a few feet away, completely naked, spraying a cloud of deodorant under his arms, and Louis realizes he’s in the least sexual of situations. It makes it easier for him to drop the towel and get dressed, though he does catch a glimpse of Harry’s soft dick hanging between his legs. 

Forty-seven years, and with his active lifestyle, he’s seen countless flaccid penises in locker rooms and college dormitory showers, but he’s never wondered what one tasted like before. Yet, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t imagining it now. Whether the scent of soap would linger or how the skin there would taste different from the skin of Harry’s neck, just below his ear. Louis clears his throat and wraps his wet clothes in the towel, promising to return it the following week. 

Fully dressed, they walk to Harry's office together, and Louis grabs his things that Harry's been kind enough to let him leave locked up in his desk drawer. He spins his keys on his finger, and says, “See you.”

“Oh!” Harry holds a finger up, asking Louis to wait, and finds his phone. “Can I have your number? In case something comes up with Junior Guards or the seminars.” When Louis nods and reaches for the pen cup on his desk, Harry scrunches his nose. “I was going to have you put it in my contacts.”

Louis shakes his head, scribbling his name and phone number in black Sharpie on a hot pink Post-It. He peels it off the cube and sticks the little square of paper to Harry’s shirt, right over his nipple, rubbing back and forth a few times to be sure it sticks. 

“You can—” Louis clears his throat, watching Harry write his name and number in neat print on another Post-It. “You can call or, um, text whenever. It doesn’t have to be work related.”

Raising his eyebrows, Harry leans forward and sticks the Post-It to the center of Louis’ shirt, then tweaks his nipple, making Louis jump. Harry looks down at the Post-It on his shirt, and says, “You, too. I’m available, um... always.”

“Okay,” Louis says, nodding and pressing his lips together to keep from smiling too wide. “Good to know.”

“See you,” Harry says, biting his lower lip and watching Louis back out of his office. 

Louis peels the Post-It off his chest and copies Harry’s number into his phone. Then he folds the paper neatly into quarters, and slips it behind his driver's license in his wallet. 

On the road heading home, in the dark of his truck, where no one can see him, Louis lifts the collar of Harry’s thin white t-shirt—the same one he’d taken off Tuesday night when Louis said he could see his nipples—and sniffs, inhaling the mingled scent of Harry’s soap, laundry detergent, deodorant and sweat. He can still smell it when he falls asleep that night with his back to Bridget, both of them facing opposite walls. 

≈≈≈≈≈

It’s barely been a week, but Harry fits in with their little beach crew like he’s always been there, and it’s probably partly due to working with Niall, and being around the same age as all the guys, and surfing on the level they all do, but Louis wonders how much of it is him wanting Harry to fit into his life. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the ease with which Harry slots right in, especially with Bo. 

Louis can see that Harry tries to keep his distance from her, but she’s a lot like her father, and almost has a sixth sense when she’s been avoided or ignored. She paddles right over to Harry and talks his ear off about her time as a Junior Lifeguard. By the time they leave for the pancake house, Harry seems to have given up. 

Piled into the corner booth, Bo and Harry spend half the time talking to each other while Louis sits squashed between them. Throughout the meal, Harry’s thigh remains pressed tightly against Louis’ and when they get up to leave, Louis’ leg feels cold, missing the warmth of Harry’s touch. 

≈≈≈≈≈

“Hey, Dad,” Bo says as soon as Louis opens the kitchen door, dripping wet from the thunderstorm that cut his day on the beach short. He drops his keys in the dish and waves at her where she’s lying on the couch with her laptop. “Are we having steak tonight?”

“Yeah, the storm should be gone soon. I’ll grill them,” Louis says, checking his phone and finding that the battery’s dead. He starts down the hall, still talking. “You want salad or… I think there’s zucchini?”

“Salad!” Bo calls after him, and he gives a thumbs up over his shoulder. 

Considering how much he got rained on, he might not really need a shower, but he still strips out of his soaking wet clothes and steps behind the curtain. Warm and dry and dressed again, he sits on the edge of his bed to check if his phone’s been charging long enough to turn on. 

A moment after it powers up, his text alert—a loud, clear, ding—sounds over and over, and he almost drops his phone in his rush to silence it. As soon as he does that, he opens his texts to find half a dozen messages from Harry. The first four all sent within two minutes. 

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Hi!  
  
**Harry:** Forgot to tell you I wasn’t working today but I’m not and I was thinking about going to the beach and trying parasailing?   
  
**Harry:** Never mind! It just started raining. Maybe on my next day off?  
  
**Harry:** I’ve never done it so I’m nervous. Might need a hand to hold ;)   
  


And with timestamps five hours later, two more. 

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Just googled ‘can I delete a text once I’ve sent it’ but I’ll let you guess the results of that search   
  
**Harry:** Sorry to have bothered you. Please pretend I didn’t send all these messages and I’ll see you Tuesday at the rec center   
  


It’s the most endearing series of messages. Louis can perfectly picture the journey of Harry's facial expressions as he sent them. 

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Hi!  
  
**Louis:** I keep my phone locked up when I’m working because no matter what the salt water ruins them and my battery died so I just got your messages   
  


Three little blinking dots appear, followed by a short text. 

Harry  
  
**Harry:** I’m sorry. I sent the first few messages rapid fire  
  
**Louis:** I’m on the parasail boat on Saturdays if you want to go up  
  
**Louis:** And don't apologize. I liked getting 6 texts from you in a row   
  
**Harry:** You should probably delete them though  
  


Louis’ heart sinks and he sighs quietly. 

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Good call. See you Tuesday?  
  
**Harry:** See you then  
  
**Louis:** Text me tomorrow? I’m off and it’s supposed to rain so I’ll be bored   
  


Harry sends him the shaka emoji and Louis grins at the screen, sending one back before deleting their conversation and locking his phone. 

The bedroom door opens just as Louis sets his phone down on his nightstand, making his heart jump into his throat. He glances at his phone, and Bridget says, “Bo wants you to grill those steaks.”

“Yeah, she told me,” Louis says, pushing himself up off the bed. “You want sweet potatoes? Bo wants salad.”

“Sure,” she says, following him to the kitchen. “The new Aquatics Director is named Harry, right?”

“Yep,” Louis says, peering into the open fridge and holding his breath. 

“Didn’t he just move here?” Bridget asks, pulling out a cutting board and knife. When Louis grunts in response, she says, “We should have him over for dinner.”

Hands full of vegetables for the salad, Louis concentrates on not dropping them and keeping his stomach from emptying itself. He can’t say no. That wouldn’t go over well. Instead, he says, “I’ll ask him. I know his schedule changes.” 

“Good,” Bridget says, pouring herself a glass of wine. “Can you grill when he comes over? You know I don’t like cooking for other people.”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis says, not at all surprised at her request. As much as he doesn’t like cooking, Bridget likes it even less. It’s amazing they've been able to raise a child who eats more than pizza and burgers. 

The prospect of asking Harry over to have dinner with his family is enough to ruin his appetite. Imagining how that conversation will go makes him never want to have it. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	4. Chapter 4

≈≈≈≈≈

Rain falls on and off all day Monday. Not enough to close the beach service, but enough to keep Louis inside on his day off. Alone in the house, he moves from the couch to the chair to the hammock on the porch, trying to read a book, but unable to concentrate. 

Eventually, he gives up and cleans the porch, dusting away cobwebs, carefully moving spiders to safer spots, and sweeping the floor. He unloads the dishwasher and wipes down the kitchen, and when Harry still hasn’t sent him a single text, he empties the refrigerator onto the counters, throws out everything that’s gone past its expiration date, and scrubs until it’s gleaming. 

It gives him time to think, and he can’t help wondering about this thing with Harry. They haven’t gotten off together again, despite having more than one opportunity. They haven’t even kissed again. It’s all so tenuous. Maybe they can just be friends. 

A little after twelve, his stomach growls, and he pulls out the steak he barely touched the night before, slicing it into thin strips. There’s plenty of salad left as well, and at least the bleu cheese dressing hadn't expired. His phone dings while he’s dicing a tomato. 

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Hiiiiiiiiiiiii :) what are you doing?   
  
**Louis:** About to eat lunch. You?  
  
**Harry:** Oh :( I was going to ask you to join me on my break to watch planes take off. Left my lunch at home today so I thought we could get McD’s again. Another time!   
  
**Louis:** I have more than enough steak and salad for 2  
  
**Harry:** Really?   
  
**Louis:** Meet you in 10?  
  


Harry sends him the shaka emoji and Louis grins. He hurries to finish preparing the salad, then puts it in a Tupperware container, and grabs all of the salad dressings from the fridge just in case Harry doesn’t like bleu cheese. As quick as he can, he brushes his teeth, and changes out of the grimy clothes he’s been lounging and cleaning in all day. There’s no time to do anything about his scraggly beard, but he brushes his hair in the truck on the way over. 

Harry’s Jeep is already parked next to the fence, and Louis pulls up beside him, waving through the window before climbing out. He gets rained on, but by the time he’s sitting in the passenger seat of Harry’s car, he doesn’t care what he looks like. Harry’s smile is wide and his dimples are deep, and Louis is just happy to be there.

“Hi,” Harry says. 

“Hi to you,” Louis says, setting the Tupperware on the console between their seats. “I brought, like, every dressing imaginable because I didn’t know what you liked, and I even remembered forks.”

Harry’s eyes dart around, settling on Louis’ mouth, and all thoughts of friendship fly out the window. Louis knocks the Tupperware over in his effort to kiss him, mumbling against Harry’s lips, “It’s got a locking lid. It’s fine.”

Laughing, Harry pulls away, moving the Tupperware to the dashboard. He cradles Louis’ face in his hands and brings their lips together so that Louis can feel him smiling into the kiss. Before Louis can get worked up, Harry lays a hand to his shoulder, pushing him back slightly.

“I’m hungry,” Harry says, reaching for the Tupperware. 

“Okay,” Louis says, leaning in to press their lips together one more time. He has to do it again when Harry asks for bleu cheese, as if their salad dressing choices mean something more than they both like moldy cheese. 

“What’ve you been doing today?” Harry asks, and hums as he chews. “No beach at all?”

“No, I went surfing this morning,” Louis says. “Niall showed up, which was cool.”

“I thought you liked going alone,” Harry says, and Louis shakes his head. 

“I don’t mind it. It’s just that no one else usually wants to get up that early, you know?”

“Oh, um… Maybe I’ll come one day.”

“I’d like that,” Louis says softly. 

“What’d you do beside surfing?” Harry asks. 

“Chores. Read a book. Or I tried to.” Spearing a slice of cucumber with his fork, Louis admits, “Was waiting to hear from you.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding and pursing his lips. “What’d you do yesterday? Besides text me a million times.”

Harry squawks and pokes him in the shoulder. “Laundry. Groceries. Went for a walk, you know, to kind of get to know my new neighborhood. Took a really nice afternoon nap.”

“Do you miss Crown Bay?” Louis asks, tilting his head and resting his temple against the back of the seat. Harry shakes his head. “No?”

“No,” Harry says. “My mom’s in Tennessee now. She moved back there when she retired. My sister and her family live in Pennsylvania. Crown Bay… I don’t know. I guess Ocean Grove is more my speed.”

“Fewer seersucker suits and slow southern accents,” Louis says. “Less old money here, as well.”

“Among other things,” Harry says, but Louis doesn’t pry. 

“So, you have a sister? Just the one?” Louis asks instead.

“Yeah, name’s Gemma. She’s got two boys in high school,” Harry says. “Jackson and James. They wanted to come stay with me this summer for a week or two, but I told them maybe next year. I’m still adjusting, and to be honest, two teenagers in my one bedroom apartment, all of us sharing one bathroom? No thank you.”

“Do you like it there?” Louis asks, clearing his throat. “In your apartment, I mean.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not bad. And it was short notice, me moving here. It works for now, and I’ll have more time to find something else, if I want it, before my lease is up.”

It’s hard not to notice that their conversation is one-sided, but Louis doesn’t know what to say. He could offer up information about his siblings, though they’re spread out all over the world. At the mention of Harry’s nephews, his mind automatically went to Bo and how much of an adjustment it’ll probably be for her to have to share a hall bathroom with thirty other people when she’s used to having her own, but bringing up Bo when they’re alone is one step removed from talking about Bridget, and that’s the last thing he wants to do. 

The wind gusts, sending drops of rain down from the tree branches above them, and they finish lunch in silence, watching the rivulets of water run over the windshield. Not a single airplane takes off or lands. 

Louis packs everything back into his bag and sets it on the floor, swishing water around in his mouth before he swallows. It doesn’t do a bit of good. His mouth still tastes like salad dressing. 

“Here,” Harry says, opening the center console and handing him a miniature bottle of mouthwash. 

“Came prepared?” Louis asks, unscrewing the cap and tipping some into his mouth. 

“I keep a few in here,” Harry explains, though his cheeks flush pink as he does. “Can’t go back to work otherwise. I keep a toothbrush and toothpaste in my locker.”

After watching Harry open the door and spit the mouthwash out onto the pavement, Louis does the same, and he laughs quietly, shutting the door against the rain. Dropping all pretenses, they meet in the middle, noses and teeth bumping, but a bloody nose or a busted lip would be a small price to pay. 

Leaning across the Jeep’s console, he can’t get close enough, and has to settle for what he can reach of Harry’s body, untucking his shirt and slipping his fingers beneath to caress the soft skin of his stomach, his hips, his lower back. Harry plays with the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck, twisting it and pulling, scratching his scalp and using his grip to bring Louis impossibly closer. His other hand travels over Louis’ body, cupping his jaw before dragging his thumb over his throat, then sliding his palm over Louis’ chest. Quietly, Louis moans, wishing he’d worn sweatpants now that his erection is trapped behind the zipper of his shorts. 

Harry rubs his thumb behind Louis’ ear and pulls back. “I have to go back to work.”

“Shit,” Louis says, leaning in to nip at Harry’s lower lip once more. He falls back into his seat, panting, and adjusts himself. “Sorry.”

“No, um…” Harry reaches over and gives Louis’ cock a gentle squeeze that has his hips lifting uncontrollably. “You should go take care of this. Think of me?”

“You can’t go back to work like that,” Louis says, eyeing Harry’s crotch. 

“No,” Harry says, tucking his shirt back in. “But it’s not going anywhere with you here looking like that.”

“Like what?” Louis flips the visor down and opens the mirror, turning his head side to side. His hair’s a mess, his lips are pink and shiny with spit, and his eyes are a little glassy. 

“Like that,” Harry says, closing the mirror and flipping the visor back up. “Now, go. I need like five minutes alone so I can go back to work.”

“Alright,” Louis says, sucking his lip between his teeth. He climbs out of Harry’s Jeep and shuts the door, still watching him through the window when he slides behind the wheel of his truck. When Harry waves, Louis wiggles his fingers at him, and backs out of the parking space. 

Instead of going down the road that passes the rec center, Louis turns the other way out of the parking lot, and drives along the waterway. It’s a longer route home, but it’s a bumpy two-lane road that loops around behind a golf course and no one’s going to recognize him or his truck or question his reasons for being there. The last thing he needs is Niall seeing him near the rec center and asking him what he was doing down by the old airport, especially if he’s aware that Harry likes to go there on his lunch break. 

By the time he gets home, he’s given up on getting off. He takes his bag inside and puts the dressings in the fridge, washes the forks and Tupperware, drying it all and putting it away so there’s no evidence it’s been used. Not that anyone would notice. 

His phone dings with a message from Harry, and before he opens it, Louis makes sure the house is locked, and walks back to his bedroom. 

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Did you think about me?  
  
**Louis:** No  
  
**Louis:** I mean yes!  
  
**Louis:** I haven’t yet? I was washing dishes  
  
**Harry:** Lol what about now?  
  
**Louis:** I’m sitting on my bed texting you  
  
**Harry:** Naked?  
  


Louis hurries to take off his clothes, kicking them towards the hamper.

Harry  
  
**Louis:** I am now  
  
**Louis:** You're at work!  
  
**Harry:** I know. I’m waiting for the guy to fix the printer  
  
**Louis:** This is weird  
  
**Harry:** Doesn’t have to be. Text me after?  
  


Louis sends him the shaka emoji and deletes their conversation, laying back on the bed. Usually, he jerks off in the shower. It’s easier and he doesn’t have to worry about the mess or being interrupted. But at two o'clock in the afternoon, he has the house to himself for at least another couple of hours. 

As soon as he gets comfortable, he realizes he probably needs a towel or something since he can’t just wash everything down the drain afterwards. He gets two, just in case, spreading one out on his side of the bed and setting the other on his nightstand. With an extra pillow propping him up, he reclines, lightly trailing his fingertips over his stomach, up to his chest where he gently circles around his nipples until the skin starts to pebble and he can easily pinch them. He forgot how much he used to enjoy doing that. For a long time now, getting off has been almost mechanical, the friction and pressure of his hand around his cock, but nothing else.

While he plays with his nipples, he inches his other hand down, rubbing his leg and bending his knee to easier touch the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Closing his eyes, he pictures Harry’s hands on him. Harry’s fingertips tracing over the crease where his leg meets his groin. Harry cupping his balls, rolling them in his palm. 

His dick begins to fatten up, and he looks down, wrapping his hand around it. With a loose fist, he slowly strokes himself until he’s fully hard, then closes his eyes again, imagining spending a rainy afternoon with Harry on the bed between his legs, taking his time, sucking him off. Harry’s lips are so distracting, so enticing, so pink and full, and the memory of them stretched around Louis’ cock makes his heart beat faster. 

Knowing that this doesn’t have to remain a fantasy, that it could be real, that it has been real… Louis takes a shaky breath, switching their places in his mind. He kneels on the floor of Harry’s apartment, yanking his pants down and taking him into his mouth without pretense, sucking hard. Even in his imagination, he’s nervous about doing it right. He knows what he likes, knows what feels good to him, but for someone like Harry, who’s probably been on the giving and receiving end of more blow jobs that Louis could count, it’s hard not to worry that he won’t be up to par. 

Pushing that train of thought aside, he swipes his thumb over the head of his dick, and thinks about that day in the employee locker room, the sight of Harry’s cock hanging between his legs. He wonders what it might be like to press his nose to the soft skin under Harry’s belly button, what he might smell like there, or even lower at the base of his dick, between his legs, his thighs. Louis’ hips buck and he comes imagining the taste of Harry on his tongue. 

After he cleans himself up, he gets dressed again, and carries his dirty towels to the washing machine. As soon as he collects the other towels from around the house and starts a load of laundry, he takes his phone out to the porch and lays in the hammock.

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Thought of you   
  
**Harry:** Anything in particular?  
  
**Louis:** Your mouth mostly   
  
**Louis:** But my mouth on you too   
  
**Harry:** That’s what I’ll think about tonight when I get home  
  
**Louis:** Text me after?   
  


Harry sends him the shaka emoji, and Louis grins, sending one back and deleting their texts. 

≈≈≈≈≈

After two days of rain, the sun’s back out with a vengeance, and the humidity is oppressive. All day, Louis chugs water and reapplies sunscreen, though he’s sure to sweat it off almost immediately. 

In the late afternoon, a customer requests a two hour sailing lesson, which would have them coming back after five when the beach service has already closed for the day. Louis takes the guy out, and it’s worth the time. He picks it up quickly, and after the first hour, Louis lets him take over, only stepping in now and then to correct him. When the two hours are up, Louis sits by while he steers them in. Hitting the breakers after spending all that time on relatively smooth water can make anyone anxious, so he stays close to the tiller, ready to help, but it’s not necessary. They ride the waves to shore, and Louis jumps off, grabbing the bar where the trampoline connects to the hull, and guiding the boat onto the beach. 

Definitely worth the time since the guy plans to come back later in the week and rent a boat for a day. Louis tosses his lifejacket on the trampoline and sets about taking down the sails and rolling them up. 

While he’s dragging the boat up to the dune line, it suddenly becomes a lot easier, and he looks over to see Harry on the other side, helping him pull the catamaran through the sand. 

“Thanks, man,” Louis says, locking down the tiller.

“Wasn’t going to stand there and watch you do all the work,” Harry says with an easy shrug, picking up the rolled jib when Louis shoulders the mainsail, and following Louis up to his truck. 

“Glad it’s not raining today,” Louis says, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “Would've been a pain to reschedule.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, looking Louis up and down. Louis cocks his hip and raises his eyebrows, but before they can get themselves in trouble, a red minivan pulls up, and three of their Junior Lifeguards jump out. 

Two hours later, Louis is sweatier and sandier. After the last kids are picked up by their parents, Louis heads straight into the ocean with Harry on his heels. 

“I’m disgusting,” Louis says, sinking beneath the water and doing his best to rinse the sand from his body. He surfaces and shakes his head to get the hair off his face. 

“Sure,” Harry says, laughing quietly while he lowers himself until only his head is above the water, the white at his temples standing out even more with his hair wet. “So you rent the sailboats?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, nodding towards the boats at the top of the beach. “We rent them, but people have to demonstrate they’re capable first. Someone takes them out and lets them do the sailing once they’re past the breakers, then we go from there. But we also do rides and lessons. That’s what I was doing today before you got here.”

“What if I want to rent one?” Harry asks, combing his fingers through his hair. “Local discount?”

Louis snorts quietly and says, “No charge.”

“What if I don’t want to go sailing alone?” Harry asks, and Louis purses his lips. 

“You want me to go with you?” Louis asks, and when Harry nods, he says, “We should do it on my day off.”

“Is that okay? That won’t be weird?”

“No, it’s fine,” Louis says, quickly thinking of a believable excuse. “We can just say you haven’t sailed in years and were nervous about going alone, so I offered. No big deal.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Louis says, reaching out with his foot until he finds Harry’s leg under the water. “It’ll be fun. I’m always doing shit like that for work, you know? Never really get to do it for fun.”

“Okay,” Harry says, smiling and catching Louis’ ankle. “What are you doing after this?”

“Taking the sails and all the guard equipment up to the beach service storage building,” Louis says, standing up out of the water. 

“I’ll help,” Harry offers, and normally Louis would say no, that he’ll do it himself, because Louis has the tendency to put himself out to help someone else, but the desire to be around Harry for just a little while longer makes the decision easy.

“You want to follow me or ride in the truck?” Louis asks, and tries not to smile while he watches Harry think it over. 

“I’ll ride with you, if that’s okay.”

“Wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t,” Louis says, leading him out of the water and up the beach. 

It’s not far and it’ll take too long for the air conditioning in his truck to start blowing cold air, so they ride with the windows down, wind whipping their hair. Louis backs his truck into the storage building, and closes the heavy garage door. Normally, he’d leave it open, but if he’s going to be alone with Harry, he wants to be alone with Harry. 

Harry easily figures out where things go without Louis’ instruction, hanging the rescue cans and tubes, while Louis puts the sails away, and much too soon, everything’s done. 

“Do you have an office?” Harry asks, and Louis nods towards the far wall. 

“In there. Doesn’t get much use,” Louis says. “You want a tour?”

While the massive garage bay is hotter than it is outside, acting almost like an oven, the office area is small and air conditioned. The series of rooms starts with a plate glass window on the front of a small section meant for a receptionist, and a longer room behind it with space for more than one desk. Neither of the rooms are put to their intended use, and are instead filled with boxes and filing cabinets that Louis should probably sort through. 

In the back is his office. There’s a huge desk that takes up most of the room and is much too ostentatious, especially for an office in a glorified storage unit. But it was included with the building when the city bought it for the beach service, and it’s not like he could give it back. 

“So…” Louis does a little twirl, and says, “This is it.”

The second Louis spins to face him, Harry catches him around the waist and pulls him in, kissing him hard and licking into his mouth. They’re both sweaty and sandy and salty and still wearing wet bathing suits and nothing else, but if anything that makes it hotter. Chest to chest, stomach to stomach, the heat of Harry’s body bleeds into his, and he shivers at Harry’s frenzied touches, wanting more, but not knowing what or how to ask for it. 

They bump into his desk, and Harry sits on the edge, spreading his legs to make room for Louis between them, and Louis knows what he wants. He breaks their kiss, taking a look at the mess on his desk. 

“Come here,” Louis says, walking around behind his desk to sit in his chair. He quickly pushes everything to the side, clearing a space in front of him, and pats the desk. 

“Yeah?” Harry asks, and when Louis nods, he rounds the corner of the desk, bending down to kiss him. Now that Louis has a goal in mind, his hands roam over Harry’s body with purpose. He tucks his fingertips under the waist of his swimsuit and works the damp fabric down Harry’s legs. Harry checks behind him, then shrugs, sitting his bare ass on the smooth wood of Louis’ desk, and leans back, propping himself up with his hands. 

Even soft, his dick is bigger than Louis’ and it’s intimidating thinking of fitting it into his mouth. Louis shakes his head once, circles his fingers around the base and gives it a few slow strokes, glancing up to meet Harry’s hooded eyes. He leans in close and darts his tongue out, licking the tip the way he wanted to that day in the locker room. It tastes salty, of course, they were just in the ocean, but it’s cooler than he expected, almost clammy from being trapped inside his wet swimsuit, and he carefully takes the head into his mouth, closing his eyes as it warms and thickens in his hand. 

For his first blow job, he feels like he’s doing alright. He focuses on keeping his teeth covered, and using his tongue to press against the sensitive underside, but he has to pull off after a moment, jaw already sore from it.

“You’ve got a big dick,” Louis says as if Harry isn’t aware of the size of it, like he doesn’t have to take it into consideration when he’s putting on his pants every day. 

Harry snorts, combing his fingers through Louis’ hair. “Thanks?”

“I mean, it’s a compliment, but damn,” Louis says, sucking the head between his lips to try again. 

“I know,” Harry says, and when Louis looks up, he’s frowning. “I like to bottom more than I like to top anyway. I’m versatile, but… It’s okay if you don’t want me to fuck you.”

Louis sits back, letting go of Harry’s dick, words bouncing in his brain. “Is that… Would you want that?”

“Not now,” Harry says with a short laugh. “I thought you were blowing me.”

“I’m trying to,” Louis says honestly. “I was just wondering.”

“If we’re going to keep doing this?” Harry shrugs, grabbing his cock and waving it back and forth until Louis takes hold of it and nods. “Then, yeah, I want you to fuck me. And I’d like to fuck you, but like I said, if you’re not into bottoming, it’s fine.”

The idea of being fucked, of taking Harry’s cock inside his body, is a lot to think about. Louis files it away for later, and focuses on getting Harry off with his mouth. He does a decent job, in his opinion. Harry warns him just before he comes, and Louis decides then that he’s going to swallow, though it’s a little overwhelming. He doesn’t gag, even when Harry’s release floods his mouth. And his prize is Harry on his knees on the threadbare carpet of his office, sucking him off fast and efficiently, and licking him clean. 

≈≈≈≈≈

He drops Harry at his Jeep, heading home, mind spinning because he really doesn’t know a thing. With this whole affair—because, God, that’s what it is—he hasn’t really thought about the sexuality aspect. No one knows, it’s a secret, so it’s not really happening, or at least that’s how he’s been rationalizing it. And he’s been fumbling in the dark, with no clue what he’s doing. 

After he showers, he eats the pasta that Bridget left for him, and instead of joining her on the couch to watch TV, he says he’s tired, which isn’t a lie, but when he gets in bed, he unlocks his phone and searches ‘gay sex positions’ because that’s the point he’s come to. 

That search leads him to a shockingly frank website with GIFs of some extremely flexible men having sex with each other. He closes the tab, and searches ‘what is topping and bottoming’ and pulls up an article from  _ The Advocate _ called “Gay Sex Ed: Topping and Bottoming 101.” That article leads him to another in what seems to be a series; this one titled “Gay Sex Ed: A Guide to Fun and Worry-Free Anal Sex.” 

Just reading about STDs in the context where it could apply to him has him lying in bed awake long after Bridget is asleep. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	5. Chapter 5

≈≈≈≈≈

While he couldn’t sleep, it doesn’t take Louis long the next morning to rationalize that STDs aren’t something he needs to worry about, at least, not right now. It’s been a long time since he and Bridget have slept together in the biblical sense, and while he knows that Harry wants to, they haven’t had anal sex yet, and if they do, they’ll use protection. And lube. Lots of lube.

After their first seminar at the rec center is over, and Niall congratulates them by telling them that the next one is the following Sunday, an hour’s drive south, Louis leaves and goes straight to his office to see how he can adjust the schedule on the beach. Unfortunately, Harry has to stay at the rec center, though Louis is probably more productive without him around. 

Once he figures out the schedule, he hops in his truck and drives inland to a CVS about thirty minutes west of Ocean Grove. He parks on the side of the building where there are no other cars, and switches his logoed beach service hat out for an old, faded Mets hat that washed up on the beach the week before. It’s a ridiculous excuse for a disguise, but it makes him feel less conspicuous. Especially when he finds himself standing in the sexual health aisle, wiping his sweaty palms on his shorts while he stares at the assorted available products. 

Debating with himself over what to buy takes longer than he expected, but he didn’t know desensitizing anal lubricants existed, and he still isn’t sure if he wants to bottom. He winds up buying small bottles of a few different types of lube, as well as a variety of condoms. Then he walks around the store to the household goods section where he finds a locking cash box, because he can’t just keep seven bottles of lube in the medicine cabinet at home, so the obvious solution is a locked metal box hidden under his desk at work. He’ll sneak it home one day when Bridget and Bo are out of the house. 

That night, after work, once he’s showered and eaten dinner, he sits beside Bridget on the couch to watch whatever she’s watching. It turns out to be  _ The Great British Baking Show, _ which he’s never seen before, but it doesn’t matter. Spending that time with her, even just silently watching TV from opposite ends of the couch, eases the guilt that’s been nagging him. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Since their second seminar the following Sunday is an hour’s drive south, and Niall scheduled them to begin at eight in the morning, Louis skips surfing for the first time in years. As far as he can remember, the last time he missed a Sunday morning was six years before, and that was because he had strep throat. 

“Oh my God, you’re so grumpy,” Harry says, laughing at him when he pouts about missing the sunrise. “It’s cute.”

Louis scoffs, but a smile tugs at his lips. “I forgot my coffee. Poured it in my travel mug and just left it on the counter.”

“Stop at Starbucks,” Harry says, reaching over nudging Louis’ arm. “I want a Frappuccino.”

Sometimes Bo drinks Starbucks, and occasionally Bridget will mention stopping there with Andrea, but Louis has always been a black coffee drinker. One cup in the morning, after he surfs, but before he starts the rest of his day. On their road trip to Disney World when Bo was eleven, he stopped at a Starbucks, and ordered a coffee. It was bitter and too hot and he didn't enjoy it. Yet, because Harry wants it, he finds himself pulling into the parking lot and circling the building, waiting in line behind half a dozen other cars.

“I hope this doesn’t make us late,” Louis says, inching his truck forward. 

“It won’t,” Harry says, leaning forward and squinting at the sign. “Does that say Pumpkin Spice?”

“It’s July, Harry,” Louis says, looking at the sign. “And no, it doesn’t say Pumpkin Spice.”

“Don’t be like that about Pumpkin Spice, Lou,” Harry says, messing up Louis’ hair. “I like what I like. I’d like a Grande Caramel Frap, please. What are you getting?”

“Coffee,” Louis says, still grumpy that he left his cup at home. 

“Really? Their regular coffee is gross to me,” Harry says, pulling out his wallet. 

“I don’t usually buy coffee like this,” Louis says, feeling a little over the hill at the admission. “What’d you say? I like what I like? And what I like is black coffee that I make at home.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry says, when Louis waves away his money. He doesn’t miss the folded pink Post-It when Harry slips the ten back into his wallet. “Didn’t mean to judge your coffee order. Thought you might like something fun.”

“Fun?” Louis says, narrowing his eyes. He pokes Harry in the side, digging his fingers into his ribs and making him giggle until the car behind them honks and he moves forward with the line, blushing hard. They drive off with one coffee and two Caramel Frappuccinos, which makes Harry far happier than it should. 

Louis sips his icy beverage through the straw, and his eyes go wide. He bites his lip, wrinkling his nose to keep from smiling, trying to hold onto his grumpiness, and says, “That’s like a milkshake, but with coffee instead of ice cream.”

“You like it,” Harry says, nodding knowingly.

“I do,” Louis says, taking another sip through the straw. “But it’s not coffee.”

“How old are you?” Harry asks, and Louis flips him off.

“Forty-seven,” Louis says. “Why? Am I suddenly too old for you?”

“Just checking that you weren’t secretly ninety with excellent genes,” Harry says, hollowing his cheeks with the straw between his pursed lips. It’s obscene, and Louis tells him so, which is a mistake because Harry drinks the rest of it in the same manner. 

When they finally arrive at the pool where they’re supposed to give the seminar, Louis is giddy, full of caffeine and sugar. Harry taps him on the nose and Louis tries to bite his finger right there in the parking lot. It shocks him out of the trance that Harry has him in, but it’s worth it. Harry calls him cute again, and after the seminar, back at the beach service storage building, once they’ve unloaded everything from Louis’ truck, Harry grabs his hand and pulls him back to his office, where they exchange blow jobs before Louis drops him off at the rec center and heads back to work.

It’s an excellent Sunday. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Louis asks Liam to switch days off with him so that he can take Harry out on the sailboat on Wednesday. He tries to word it so it doesn’t sound odd, making it seem like he owes Harry a favor because of something to do with Junior Guards classes, and that he’d rather do it on his day off so he doesn’t feel like he has to be back to the beach when Harry might want to stay out on the water. 

On Wednesday, Louis gets to the beach a little early so he can check on things, but he winds up sitting under the umbrella by the bikes with Bo. 

“I just…” Bo sighs, crossing her arms. “No offense, but I don’t want you guys to come to orientation.”

“Aren’t parents supposed to come though?” Louis asks, leaning forward and gently pinching her knee. 

She shakes her head. “Not really. Like, you're allowed, obviously, but most parents don’t come. They have dorms for us to stay in, and we’ll eat in the dining hall, and stuff like that. It’s like a taste of living on campus.”

“Sounds fun,” Louis says, remembering his first year of college, and trying to recall orientation weekend, though he’s pretty sure he went alone. “What’s the problem?”

“Mom wants to go,” Bo says, huffing and blowing her hair off her forehead. 

“I’m sure she doesn’t actually want to go,” Louis says, chewing on his lip. “It’s probably more like she doesn’t want you to go alone.”

“I’m going to college,” Bo says, standing up when a customer approaches her umbrella. “I want to do this stuff by myself.”

Louis sighs, and before they can get interrupted, he says, “I’ll talk to your mom. No promises, though. And try to understand where she’s coming from, okay? You’re our baby.”

“I know. Thanks, Dad,” Bo says, waving as the woman walks closer. “Hi! Are you interested in renting a bike?”

While he waits for Harry, Louis pulls the boat down to the water, and sorts through the life jackets for one of the nicer ones for Harry to wear. 

“Hey,” Harry says, and Louis jumps. 

“Jesus,” Louis hits him in the chest with the life jacket. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“But it’s cute when you jump,” Harry says quietly, and Louis jerks his head around, making sure no one overheard. “Nobody’s around.”

Louis takes a deep breath. “What’s with the backpack?”

“Supplies,” Harry says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Food and stuff.”

Tipping his head to the side, Louis asks, “You brought a picnic?”

“And sunscreen.”

“Of course,” Louis says, nodding towards the catamaran. “Let’s go.”

It’s such a relief to launch the boat with someone else who knows what they’re doing. Not having to guide Harry or give him polite, but firm orders the way he has to with customers makes it fun from the word go. They get to the breakers, and Louis asks Harry to jump on, just because it’s easier to push the boat when it’s got a little weight on it, but after that it’s quite literally smooth sailing. 

Louis takes the tiller, steering them east, and picking up speed. Once they’re far enough away from the beach, he reaches over and squeezes Harry’s thigh. 

“Ready to fly?” Louis asks, and Harry grins wide, short curls blowing in his face. 

“Yeah, let’s go,” Harry says, tucking his feet. Louis tightens the mainsail, adjusting the jib, then tightens it again, wrapping the line around his hand. The hull lifts out of the water and the wind carries them away, boat tipped to the side, Harry whooping and hollering. 

Eventually, Louis’ arms get tired, and they switch places. It takes Harry a few minutes, but muscle memory is strong, and he’s sailing without thinking about it soon enough. They take it easy for a while, turning north, and Louis lays down on the trampoline on his stomach, letting his hand dangle in the water. 

“Harry?” 

“Yeah?” Harry lets the mainsail out a bit.

“There’s a sea turtle,” Louis says, pushing himself up onto his knees, and hanging on the trapeze. “See it?”

Harry slows the boat, and brings it around, stopping them completely. “Where?”

“Give it a second,” Louis says, pointing about thirty feet off the starboard side. “She’ll pop up again, I bet.”

“She?” 

“If it’s the same turtle,” Louis says, hoping it is. “She has these— It is! It’s her! Her shell’s damaged. Some asshole got too close with an outboard motor.”

She pops her head out of the water twice more, like she wants to make sure they see her before she disappears again. 

“That was cool,” Harry says, turning and letting his legs hang over the side. “Maybe I’ll get a sea turtle tattoo. Commemorate the event.”

“How old are you?” Louis asks, rolling his eyes.

“Forty-five,” Harry says, echoing Louis’ words, “Why? Am I suddenly too young for you?”

“Just saying, you don’t have any tattoos, um, that I’ve seen,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows and looking Harry up and down. “Why start now?”

“Why not?” Harry counters. “There’s no rule, is there?  _ Must be under forty to get your first tattoo.” _

“No, but, like…” Louis frowns, then blows a raspberry. “Seems like a young person thing.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think tattoos are permanent, so it doesn’t matter how old you are when you get one,” Harry says, pushing his sunglasses into his hair and reaching for his backpack where it’s tied to the trampoline. “Also, Liam and Zayn are like, covered in tattoos.”

“I know,” Louis says, sitting beside him, feet in the water. 

“You just sound so judgemental,” Harry says, shaking his head. He opens his bag and pulls out a small cooler. “Lots of people have tattoos.”

“I  _ know,”  _ Louis says again, trying not to lose his temper. 

“The other day, Bo was saying she wants a Carolina blue Tar Heel tattooed on her foot,” Harry says, laughing and throwing his head back. 

“She’s not getting that shit,” Louis snaps, and Harry drops his chin, looking straight at him and passing him a sandwich in a plastic baggie.

“She’s eighteen, Louis. She’s an adult,” Harry says, as if he doesn’t know. She’s his daughter, after all. 

“I’m not talking about this anymore, Harry,” Louis says, meeting his eyes and hoping to end the conversation. 

Harry takes a breath and blows it out, puffing his cheeks, but he doesn’t say anything else about it. 

“It’s lemon chicken salad,” Harry says, picking up his sandwich and changing the subject. 

“Thank you,” Louis says, pausing and trying to gather his thoughts. He wants to explain, but he can’t. It’s not something he’s thought about in years, in fact, it’s been decades since the last time he considered getting a tattoo. 

When he turned eighteen, he wanted one, and went so far as to drive to the most reputable shop in the area to get an idea of what the art was like and what the prices were. But he and Bridget talked about it a lot leading up to his birthday, and he went in with the idea that a tattoo needed to be meaningful, that it had to be important in some way. He even considered getting something dedicated to Bridget, but he never voiced that thought out loud, probably because he wouldn’t have gone through with it, and that would’ve hurt her feelings. 

He left the shop that day and never went back, convinced that nothing would ever be important enough to memorialize it on his own body. Now, he wonders why Bo’s birth didn’t strike him as a qualifying event. Or his own marriage. 

Louis shakes his head. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

“It’s fine, Lou,” Harry says, kicking his feet in the water. “You don’t have to… We’re not… You don’t have to tell me anything. That’s not what we are.”

“Still, I’m sorry,” Louis says, and Harry nods. 

They finish their lunch in silence, with Louis feeling like he ruined their picnic and probably their whole day on the boat.  _ Date _ on the boat. Because that’s what it is. Harry packed a picnic and they’ve been out on the water for hours, just the two of them, and Louis screwed it up. 

Sighing quietly, he loops a length of rope around his waist, tying it securely. After debating only a second, Louis unbuckles his life jacket, attaching it to one of the straps on the trampoline, and pushes himself off the boat. He kicks to surface immediately and gives the line around his waist a tug. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, zipping up his backpack. 

“Peeing.”

Harry laughs, and says, “Suppose I should wait ’til you’re finished. And maybe go on the other side.”

“It’s a big ocean,” Louis says, treading water. “Fish pee, whale pee, sea turtle pee…”

Setting his sunglasses on the trampoline, Harry removes his life jacket, and slides off the boat into the water. “Louis pee.”

“And Harry pee. I assume that’s why the water’s getting warm,” Louis says, wanting to make Harry laugh again. 

Instead, Harry splashes him. “Must be the sea turtle pee.”

“You should add that to your tattoo,” Louis says. “A little drop of sea turtle pee permanently inked in your skin.”

“Maybe I will,” Harry says, floating on his back and looking up at the sky. “But it’ll secretly be a drop of Louis pee and no one will know but you and me.”

Louis grabs Harry’s ankle, reeling him in, and Harry goes willingly, wrapping his legs around Louis. “I hope you’re done peeing. I don’t think that’s the sort of thing I’m into.”

“Yeah?” Harry drapes his arms over Louis’ shoulders, meeting his eyes. “What are you into?”

“You,” Louis says, sliding his hands up Harry’s legs, cupping his thighs and slipping his fingers under the hem of Harry’s shorts. With the line around his waist tied to the boat, he’s free to touch Harry as much as he wants without worrying they'll drift away. He kicks his legs, treading water to keep them from sinking. 

Drops of sea water cling to Harry’s eyelashes as he leans in close. Surrounded by nothing but the ocean and the bright blue, cloudless sky, the gorgeous green of Harry’s eyes is intensified, and Louis is close enough to see his reflection. He cradles Harry’s jaw, gently rubbing his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone, bringing their lips together, and tasting the ocean on Harry’s tongue. 

Blindly, Louis reaches out for the sailboat’s hull, using his grip on it to keep them afloat. He breaks their kiss, sucking on Harry’s lower lip before nudging their foreheads together. 

“Get on the boat,” Louis says, squeezing the back of Harry’s thigh and kissing his lips once more.

Harry pulls himself out of the water, and Louis enjoys the view, watching the muscles of his arms and back flex as he climbs up. Louis scrambles after him, in a hurry to touch him again. He kneels beside him, and unties the line around his waist, pushing Harry onto his back, and stretching out on top of him. Settling between his legs, Louis sighs happily at the wet slide of their skin as their bodies meet. 

Without the added effort of keeping their heads above water, Louis can focus on kissing Harry, tasting the salt on his skin, sucking on his neck just shy of hard enough to leave a mark. He licks over his collarbones, and down his chest, scraping his teeth over Harry's nipple, which Harry seems to like, arching his back and combing his fingers through Louis’ hair, holding him there. Louis darts his tongue out, licking over the pebbled skin, glancing up when Harry shifts beneath him, reaching his arms above his head and grabbing hold of the edge of the trampoline. He takes Harry’s nipple between his lips, sucking and nibbling, before biting it and pulling a little with his teeth. 

They’re clearly sensitive, if just Louis’ attention to his nipples is the cause of Harry’s growing erection, and Louis lifts his head to ask, “What about these?” Confusion clouds Harry’s face, but his furrowed brow relaxes and he nods when Louis rubs his thumb over one of his smaller nipples. He spends time teasing each of Harry’s nipples in turn, then kisses over his stomach, pressing his nose into his skin, feeling his abdominal muscles flex beneath the softness under his belly button. 

Louis sits back, hooking his finger in the waistband of Harry’s swimsuit, and untying it before moving aside to let Harry bring his legs together, making it easier to peel his wet shorts down. When they hit mid-thigh, Louis loses patience, straddling Harry’s knees and wrapping his hand around Harry’s cock, bending over to take it into his mouth. 

The more blow jobs he gives, the more he enjoys it, and the more confident he is in his ability to make Harry not only come, but completely fall apart with only his mouth. So far, they’ve all been hurriedly given in his office with one eye on the door, just in case someone shows up unexpectedly. Like this, out in the ocean, far enough from shore that they can’t be seen, Louis takes his time bringing Harry to the brink of orgasm before pulling off and stroking him slowly. 

He crawls down Harry’s body, nuzzling his balls, and rubbing his nose back and forth over his thigh, inhaling the scent of his skin and the sea. Instead of sucking him to completion, Louis jerks him off, watching his face as he comes, trembling and spilling over Louis’ fist. 

“Beautiful,” Louis whispers, reaching down to rinse his hand off in the water. 

“Sea turtle sperm,” Harry mumbles, and Louis snorts, smacking him on the leg. “Lay back. Let me blow you.”

Louis lays next to him, hurriedly pushing his swimsuit down, and Harry hums as he takes his cock into his mouth, the vibrations making Louis’ toes curl. He tries to hold back, having learned very quickly that Harry loves giving head and is disappointed when Louis comes fast, but it’s no use. Soon enough, he tugs on Harry’s wet curls in warning, and Harry sucks harder, swallowing everything Louis gives him. 

“Shit,” Harry says, looking down at the come on his stomach. “Dripped on the tramp.”

“Oh?” Louis pulls his shorts back on, sitting up to see a few splatters of white on the black material of the trampoline. He leans over the side, cupping his hand and splashing water over it, rubbing at it with his fingertips until it disappears. “Good as new. Maybe you should, um… go for a swim?”

Harry rolls his eyes, shoving him in the chest. He stands on the trampoline, and dives gracefully into the water, surfacing a good distance away, before swimming back to the boat and climbing aboard. They stay out for another hour, much longer than they should, and when they get back to the beach, it’s after four. Louis’ guilt gets heavier as they approach the shore, and he soothes it by helping close down the beach service. Harry sticks around, too, going out on the banana boat when Zayn offers him a space on his last ride of the day. 

At Junior Lifeguards the next evening, they’re professional, as always, but there’s not so much as a fleeting touch or a chaste kiss in the locker room. The lack of contact feeds Louis’ notion that he could end this affair at any time, sending them back to being friends. 

Not that that’s something they ever were. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Despite that belief, since exchanging numbers, Louis and Harry have continued their text conversations. Louis quickly went from deleting them immediately after sending each message, to deleting them at night once he tells Harry to have sweet dreams. Harry’s number is set to vibrate in four short bursts, the letter H in morse code, and Louis keeps his phone in his pocket at all times when he’s not working. When he’s at the beach, he makes sure to power it down completely, so there’s plenty of battery life left when he picks it up from the beach service shed at the end of the day. 

All of his precautions don’t mean a thing, however, when a few minutes after he sends Harry a text, his phone rings and it’s Niall calling from the rec center.

“Hey, Ni, what’s up?” Louis answers through the speakers in his truck, pulling onto the road, careful not to jar the banana boat he’s towing. 

“Nothing,” Niall says brightly. “You at the beach?”

“You know I am,” Louis says. It’s Saturday. He’s always at the beach on Saturdays. “Been out on the parasail boat all day. Now I’m on my way to take the banana boat in. What’s up?”

“Just saw your text pop up on Harry’s phone, and figured since he’s not here, I’d call and see what I could do for you.”

Bile rises in his throat and Louis swallows it down. He tries to laugh off his growing panic, and says, “You’re Harry’s answering service now?”

“No,” Niall says with one of his loud, short cackles. “He left his phone on his desk, I just happened to see it light up when I was dropping off some new uniform shirts. Did you need something? Harry’s giving a private swimming lesson right now.”

It sounds like Niall didn’t see the message, only Louis’ name, so he thinks fast, and says, “Just making sure the seminar’s there tomorrow.”

“Yeah, man,” Niall says. “Last one here. Then next Sunday is the one in Riverton.”

“Okay, thanks, man,” Louis says, holding his hand to his heart. “You can tell Harry to disregard the text, then.”

“Sure thing,” Niall says. “Kiss the girls for me.”

“Will do,” Louis says, hanging up and blinking away sudden tears. 

After getting everything put away at the storage building, and everyone else has gone home, Louis sits at his too big desk, folding his arms on top of it, and resting his head. He and Harry probably should’ve talked more about keeping this thing between them secret. Maybe they should’ve set up some rules or at least discussed the text messages. When Harry suggested he delete them, he thought it was something he was taking into consideration, but it’s possible he was only thinking of Louis’ phone, of Louis being found out. 

Four short bursts, Louis’ phone vibrates, and he unlocks it, but not before double checking that no part of Harry’s message is visible other than his name while it’s still locked. His own message from earlier is clearly visible above Harry’s most recent text.

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Thinking about how you taste  
  
**Harry:** Like chlorine!   
  
**Harry:** Niall said to disregard your text  
  
**Harry:** What’s he talking about?  
  


While Louis stares at the screen, trying to decide if he can even explain while typing, three dots appear, followed by another message.

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Niall explained. He didn’t see anything. Don’t worry  
  
**Louis:** Ok  
  
**Harry:** I’m actually off now. Just about to leave. Where are you?  
  
**Louis:** Office. Should probably go home  
  
**Harry:** Wait there. Give me 5  
  


True to his word, Harry pulls up in his Jeep less than five minutes later. He drives inside and Louis shuts the garage bay door behind him.

“Hey,” Harry says. When he shuts the door of his Jeep, it’s loud, echoing around the metal walls of the storage building. “Anyone here?”

Louis shakes his head.

“You okay?” Harry asks, walking towards him. The line between his eyebrows is deeper than Louis has seen it, and he tilts his head, staring. “Louis?”

Louis shakes his head again, but Harry’s close enough to take him in his arms. He holds him tightly, and Louis sags against him. 

“Niall didn’t see anything, I promise. He couldn’t,” Harry says, softly kissing Louis’ neck, and Louis nods, but doesn’t say anything, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. “And it’s perfectly normal for you to text me, right? We work together.”

“I know I’m overreacting,” Louis admits, though he isn’t sure that’s the truth. 

“We can… Do you…” Harry takes a deep breath through his nose, and reaches around for Louis’ hands behind his back, loosening his hold and putting some space between them. “Do you want to stop this?”

Blinking slowly, Louis takes a moment to process Harry’s words, but then he steps closer and takes Harry’s face in his hands, pulling him into a kiss. 

Eventually, Louis has to go. He promised to pick up take-out from Whaley’s on the way home, and he knows Bo’s already called it in. It’s probably waiting for him at the bar, getting cold. He and Harry share one more kiss, and Louis opens the garage bay door to let Harry leave first. By the time he’s on the road, he’s mostly forgotten about the text message snafu, and when he goes to bed that night, deleting the day’s texts to and from Harry, he’s put it completely out of his mind. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Sunday is a long, tiring day. Even with the drowning prevention seminar at eight o’clock, Louis still greets the sunrise in the ocean, but he and Harry skip the pancake house to get to the rec center and get ready. Afterwards, they both have their regular jobs to return to, so Louis heads back to the beach. 

Short rain showers in the afternoon are just enough to keep most customers away, but not enough to shut down the beach service. When Louis leaves the beach, he’s grumpy and tired and chilled from the rain, and when he finally gets home that evening, he’s hungry and his head hurts on top of the rest. All he wants is to eat and zone out in front of the television. 

Instead, he walks in the house to find Bridget fuming because Bo RSVP’d for orientation weeks ago as a rising freshman attending alone. He takes one look at them, both on the verge of tears, both ignoring his presence, and fumbles for the lifeguard whistle still hanging around his neck, blowing three short blasts.

Bridget and Bo both cover their ears, and Louis raises his eyebrows, staring wide-eyed at them until they lower their hands. “Do you want to fill me in or should I let you two finish up?”

“Mom’s pissed at me be—”

“Believe it or not, I can figure out why, Bo,” Louis says, running his fingers through his hair. “I told you I’d talk to your mom, but you didn’t say anything about having already sent the form in.”

“You told her you’d  _ talk _ to me?” Bridget huffs, clenching her jaw. “You knew about this?”

“Not all of it,” Louis admits, irritated with being given half the information. “Like I said, I didn’t know she’d already sent it in, but that’s a different subject.”

“It is not,” Bridget insists, and Bo nods her agreement.

“Whatever,” Louis says. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes in an effort to ease the pain behind them. It doesn’t help. “Bo, sending the form in without talking to us wasn’t cool. You knew your mom wanted to go and you’ve taken that decision away from her.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bridget snaps, making Louis’ head throb.

“You can’t change the form, Mom,” Bo says, crossing her arms and cocking her hip. 

“That’s not the point, Bo!” Louis faces her, holding one finger up because he might scream if she interrupts him right now. “You shouldn’t’ve sent it in.”

“Thank you,” Bridget says, sighing and sitting down on one of the barstools.

“Now, as far as that goes, Bridget, does one week without her car sound fair?” Louis asks, rubbing circles on his temples. 

“Dad!” 

Ignoring Bo, Louis looks to Bridget for confirmation. When she nods, he lifts Bo’s keys out of the bowl. “One week. No arguing. Now, let’s talk about orientation.”

Bridget taps her fingernails on the counter and says, “I’ll call the school and—”

“No, I mean, let’s talk about it,” Louis says, sitting on the stool beside her. “She wants to go alone and I don’t think there’s a reason not to let her.”

Scoffing loudly, Bridget turns on her stool. “The reason is that I don’t  _ want _ her to go alone.”

“Mom, I’m going to be alone, like, all the time!”

“Bo, can you not yell?” Louis asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Sorry,” Bo says, holding her phone up for him to see. “Am I allowed to go to Mikey’s?”

“Now?” Louis asks. 

“No,” Bridget says stubbornly.

“Wait a second,” Louis says, “Can I… Bo, can you just hang out while your mom and I talk privately?”

“I guess,” Bo says, dropping onto the couch.

“Come on, babe,” Louis says, starting towards their bedroom. “My head’s killing me.”

Bridget follows him into their room, and he heads for the bathroom to start the shower, stripping out of his clothes. With hot water washing over him, Louis sighs heavily, shoulders relaxing a little. He peeks out from the edge of the curtain to see Bridget sitting on the closed toilet.

“Go ahead and tell me how I’m wrong,” she says.

Shutting the curtain again, Louis reaches for his shampoo, and says, “I know this sucks for you. It sucks for both of us. I don’t want her to be an adult! Are you kidding me? But she is.”

“She’s a child.”

“She’s eighteen,” Louis says, trying to keep from getting annoyed. “And she’s right. Orientation is meant to be like a test run weekend. She’ll stay in the dorms, eat in the dining hall, just like a real college student.”

“Don’t you think she’ll get enough of that next month?”

“I don’t think that's the point,” Louis says, stretching his neck side to side. 

“Then what’s the point, Louis? Clearly you’re taking her side in this.”

Louis stays quiet for a moment, rinsing his hair and thinking it over. “I guess I am.”

“Fine. I’ll cancel my hotel for that weekend,” Bridget says. “But she’s not going to Mikey’s tonight.”

“I honestly don’t want her here, stomping around and being pissed,” Louis says, peeking around the curtain again. “We took her car. I think that’s enough punishment, but if you really want to ground her for the weekend—”

“Goddamn it, Louis, you’re in rare form today,” Bridget says, and he watches her stand and step closer to the shower curtain. 

“Yeah, well, my head hurts and I’m hungry and it’s been a long fucking week, okay?”

“Do you think Bo’s a lesbian?” Bridget asks, careening the conversation into a different direction. 

“Are you—” Louis frowns. It’s never occurred to him before. “Why?”

“Because I think Mikey’s a lesbian, and Bo’s always with her,” Bridget explains.

“Okay, well…” Louis scrubs the sand and sunscreen from his legs, wondering what Bridget wants in response. “I don’t think it matters. If she is, she is. We should probably make a point to tell her again that we love her, you know, no matter what.”

“If she’s going to be a lesbian, her life will be harder. People will judge her on that alone,” Bridget says, and Louis has to repeat the words in his head.

“It’s not like it’s a choice,” Louis says, rinsing the soap from his body. “And life is hard anyway. It’ll be a hell of a lot easier if she has two parents who love her, and like, accept her and support her.”

“You know what would be nice?” Bridget asks when Louis opens the shower curtain, reaching for a towel. “If you supported me in this.”

“In what?” Louis asks, drying his hair and rubbing the towel over his face. His head feels a bit better, but food will probably help more than anything.

“In my parenting choices!” Bridget yells, leaving him in the bathroom and sitting on the foot of their bed.

“Babe, I hate to tell you, but I think most of our choices are made,” Louis says.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means Bo’s eighteen! She’s legally an adult, going away to college on an academic scholarship, and we’ve done a good fucking job, I think! Who cares if she’s gay!” Louis hurriedly dries off and goes straight for his closet. Once he’s dressed, he walks back into the bedroom to find it empty. 

Bridget’s out in the kitchen, rifling through their collection of takeout menus. “Mikey was waiting in the driveway, so I told her to go.”

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, looking in the cabinet for some Tylenol for his head.

“Trying to decide between Chinese and pizza,” Bridget says.

“I thought we were having pork chops,” Louis says, frowning and checking in the fridge to find raw pork chops still sitting in the meat drawer.

“I didn’t feel like cooking,” Bridget says. “Chinese or pizza?”

“Don’t really want either,” Louis says. They just had takeout the previous night. 

She tosses the menus back into the junk drawer and slams it shut. “Eat whatever you want. I’m going over to Andrea’s. She’s had a bad day, and to be honest, mine’s not ending so great.”

Louis stands there blinking at her while she slips on her shoes, grabs her keys and purse, and walks out the door. It takes him a moment to recover, and then he’s pissed. He pulls out his phone, texting Harry, who responds almost immediately.

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Want to meet somewhere for drinks?   
  
**Harry:** Wish I could but I’m in the middle of cooking dinner  
  
**Harry:** Do you want to come over? I have beer and wine and I’m making gumbo  
  
**Louis:** On my way  
  


≈≈≈≈≈

Louis wasn’t planning to change clothes if Harry agreed to meet him out for a drink. He just thought they could hang out and he could eat a burger or something while thinking and talking about anything other than Bridget and Bo. 

After he brushes his teeth and puts on deodorant, he checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and decides a ripped, threadbare t-shirt from Lollapalooza 1995 isn’t appropriate for going to Harry’s home for dinner, though his cut-off sweatpants will have to do. He changes into a plain black t-shirt, more fitted than he tends to wear, grabs a bottle of wine from the kitchen, and heads for his truck. 

He doesn’t get nervous until he pulls into the parking lot. If someone sees him or recognizes his truck, he’s having dinner with a friend, and that’s acceptable. Still, he walks fast up the sidewalk, and checks around him to see if anyone’s watching when he knocks on Harry’s door.

“Hey,” Harry says, swinging the door wide, and Louis’ smiles, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Aren’t you cute,” Louis says as soon as he steps inside, and Harry shuts the door. 

Cute, he is. In loose, blue and white striped, cotton pajama pants—the kind Louis remembers his grandpa wearing—a plain white chef’s apron with splatters of what Louis can only assume is tonight’s gumbo all over it, and nothing else, Harry looks adorable. Louis lifts up on his toes and kisses his cheek.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Louis says, holding up the bottle of wine. “I know you said you had wine, but I couldn’t show up empty handed.”

“Sure you could,” Harry says, leading him across the small living area to the kitchen. It’s the most Louis has seen of Harry’s apartment, though he really shouldn’t count his first visit at all. “I have a bottle open. Poured you a glass.”

Louis takes the glass from Harry’s hand and sips it, holding eye contact as he swallows. “Smells good. I’m starving.”

“I, um…” Harry blows out a breath, turning to the stove. “Never mind.”

“What?” Louis asks, peeking around him at the simmering gumbo.

“Nothing,” Harry says, stirring the pot. “It’s not my place.”

“What do you—” Louis stops, clearing his throat. He sets his wine glass on the counter and rests his forehead on the back of Harry’s bare shoulder. He whispers against his skin, “Say what you were going to say.”

“It’s just… I thought you were going home for dinner,” Harry says, tacking on, “With your family.”

“I was,” Louis says, grabbing his wine and taking a step back. “I did. But there was no dinner, and they left me alone to fend for myself.”

Harry snorts quietly. “That sounds like half a story.”

“It is,” Louis says honestly. “If that.”

“You don't have to tell me,” Harry says, reaching for one of the bowls sitting on the counter by the stove. He spoons rice into it, then ladles the gumbo on top, and hands Louis the bowl. “You can sit on the couch or at the counter.”

“Will you sit next to me?” Louis asks, and Harry nods. He takes off his apron, and Louis drinks him in. “Then you pick.”

Harry smiles, rounding the counter and sitting on one of two wooden stools, pushing the other one out with his foot. 

“Oh my god, this is so good,” Louis says as soon as he swallows a mouthful of gumbo. He sips his wine and hums happily. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, and he sounds shy. 

Louis bumps him with his elbow and says, “Seriously. It’s delicious.”

“Thanks,” Harry says again, swirling the wine in his glass. “I’ve always loved cooking.”

“Not me, man. I mean, I do it. We, um…” Louis says, shaking his head, and Harry raises his eyebrows expectantly. “At home. We share the responsibility.”

“You can say…” Harry sets his spoon down and picks up his wine, peering into the glass. “Louis, it’s not like I don’t know you’re married. I mean, I didn’t at first, obviously.”

Cringing, Louis says, “I’m sorry, I—”

“Let me… You don’t have to act like you’re not married when you’re around me,” Harry says, tracing the rim of his wine glass with his fingertip. “I get it, if you don’t want to bring it up, but don’t avoid the subject because of me. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Isn’t it— It’s weird though. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Then don’t be circumspect when you talk about your life. I know you… you have a wife and a daughter. I mean, I’ve met Bo. Not that meeting her wasn’t weird, at least at first, but you get it, don’t you?” Harry asks, but Louis finds it hard to respond, still irritated at Bo and Bridget. “What were you saying? You share the responsibility of cooking? You and, um, your wife?”

“Bridget. Yeah. Neither of us like cooking, so we split the days,” Louis says, though saying Bridget’s name out loud sounds odd in his ears.

Harry nods, swallowing a spoonful of gumbo. “My ex-husband hated cooking, so he never did it. It’s sort of why I learned.”

“You were married?” Louis asks.

“Yep. Been divorced for two years,” Harry says.

“I had no idea,” Louis says, embarrassed at his own words. “I mean, I didn’t…”

“It’s not like I talk about him often, or at all,” Harry says. “It didn’t end well. Most divorces don’t end with the exes being friends.”

Struggling with the desire to ask what happened, Louis keeps his mouth shut. The last thing he wants to hear is that Harry’s ex cheated on him. Or vice versa. Though, he gets the feeling that’s not the case. 

“Bo lied about some stuff to do with school,” Louis says, and when Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, Louis rushes to explain, “Nothing major!”

Louis tells him about that evening’s argument, about Bridget and Bo being upset, and Harry listens intently. 

“Being that age is so hard,” Harry says. “It’s been a while, but…”

“Being an adult, but not feeling like one?”

“Yeah, and then trying to act like what you think an adult should act like, but…”

“Yeah, it’s tough. And I hate that she’s leaving. I’m going to miss her.”

“You’re a good dad, Louis.”

“Bridget thinks Bo’s a lesbian,” Louis says, and Harry sputters into his wine. “It’s not a big deal, or at least, that’s what I said. She knows we love her and none of that changes anything. But… I mean, maybe you’d get this. You were married. Sometimes it’s like arguments take on a life of their own, and after so long, it’s like old fights get built on. I don’t know. We were talking about the college orientation thing, then the lesbian thing came out of left field, and the next thing I know, Bridget’s pissed and storming out because I didn’t want to order takeout.”

“So, in a way, you were left alone to fend for yourself,” Harry says, repeating Louis’ earlier words.

Giggling into his hand, Louis nods. “Yeah. Exactly.”

After dinner, Louis washes their dishes while Harry packs the rest of the gumbo into his lunch containers for the week. They wind up laying on Harry’s couch, with the television on, but neither of them pay much attention to it. 

“Gumbo kisses,” Louis says, lifting his chin and pressing their lips together. 

Harry laughs, scooting down a little and resting his head on Louis’ chest. “When do you need to leave?”

“Probably not later than eleven,” Louis says, kissing the top of Harry’s head. 

“Okay,” Harry says, stretching his arm out and wiggling his fingers towards the coffee table.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks when Harry grabs hold of his phone.

“Setting an alarm for eleven, in case we fall asleep.”

“Good call,” Louis says, and Harry runs his hand over Louis’ arm to his hand, lacing their fingers together, rubbing over Louis’ empty ringfinger. “Is that why you wanted to leave Crown Bay? Your ex?”

Harry nods, side of his face smushed into Louis’ chest. “We were together ten years. Married seven.” Not knowing what to say, Louis hums quietly, combing his fingers through Harry’s curls. “His name’s Steven. And he’s from there. Born and raised. I’m not. I mean, we moved there from Tennessee when I was five, but you know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I do. People there are strange, at least in my experience. It’s like another planet.”

“Exactly. And his family has money. I don’t know… I was unhappy for a while. My job… Steven treated it like a hobby. Like those old, southern wives who work part time at some boutique for the discount.”

“That sucks,” Louis says, rubbing his palm over the warm skin of Harry’s back. “I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugs. “I feel like I’m just starting out. I had roommates before Steven, but then we got married, and I moved into his house, and none of my stuff fit. Like… my knick knacks or my favorite chair. None of it fit in. When we split up, I got a furnished apartment there, but I knew I wanted to leave. Especially when I’d run into him, which didn’t happen often, but it happened enough.”

“Well, you’re here now,” Louis says.

“Yeah, I guess. Still a furnished apartment, and a lot of my stuff is still in boxes, but yeah.”

“Do you like it here?” Louis asks.

Nodding, Harry slips his arms along Louis’ sides, but he doesn’t speak, and Louis assumes he doesn’t want to talk anymore. Harry falls asleep a few minutes later, snoring quietly on Louis’ chest, and though he tries to stay awake, Louis drifts off too. 

At eleven o'clock, the alarm on Harry’s phone beeps, jerking them both awake. While Harry’s couch isn’t the most comfortable, it’s a struggle to make himself get up and leave when he’d rather stay there, trapped under the weight of Harry’s body. Despite the temperature outside, he feels cold on the drive home, missing Harry’s warmth. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	6. Chapter 6

≈≈≈≈≈

Over the next week, with their variable work schedules, they only see each other at Junior Guards classes, and Friday night when the guys get together for Whaley’s annual Christmas in July to celebrate Louis’ birthday. With Louis’ birthday on Christmas Eve, he always spends it with his family, and the guys’ work-around is to treat Louis’ half-birthday like it’s the real thing. It’s nothing big, but it does make him feel special that they care. Of course, Harry joins them, and while Louis would like it if they could ride together, Niall offers first, and since the two of them are coming straight from work, it makes too much sense to argue. 

When Louis gets to Whaley’s, Niall and Harry are already there, sitting across from each other in the long booth, and Louis slides in next to Harry. 

“Happy birthday!” Niall says, scooting to the end of the booth. “I’ll go get your drink. Be right back.”

“Thanks, man,” Louis says, knocking his knee against Harry’s. 

As soon as they’re alone, Harry wiggles his eyebrows, looking a bit like a frog, and says, “Niall said he reserved our room for Saturday and not to worry about sharing because there are two double beds.”

“Did you have that expression on your face when he told you?” Louis asks, reaching up to poke Harry’s left dimple, and feeling incredibly lucky that he gets to travel with him for the next seminar, even if it is only one night in a cheap hotel. 

“I think I frowned and said ‘that will have to do’ or something similar,” Harry says, and Louis laughs. “Can’t believe you’re a Christmas Eve baby.”

“When’s your birthday?” Louis asks, hoping it’s soon, though he doesn’t know what he would give Harry other than a blow job. 

“February first,” Harry says, leaning back in his seat and raising his voice. “Hey, boys.”

Lost in Harry’s eyes, Louis wouldn’t have noticed Zayn and Liam if Harry hadn’t brought them to his attention. Louis turns to them, grinning. 

“Happy half-birthday, man,” Liam says, sitting across from him and knocking his knuckles on the table top. 

“Here’s your drink,” Niall says, sliding into the booth after Liam, leaving Louis and Harry alone on the other side. He puts a cardboard coaster with a picture of Santa Claus on it in front of Louis, and sets Louis’ vodka and soda on it. 

“How’d your date go with that golfer?” Zayn asks, catching Niall’s eye. 

“Golf pro. Her name’s Audrey,” Niall says, shrugging one shoulder. “It was good, I think. Hot as fuck.”

“Niall,” Liam says, frowning at him. “I’m sure she’s lovely, but—”

“No, it was hot as fuck yesterday and we played golf,” Niall says, elbowing Liam and laughing into his beer. “She  _ is  _ hot, but that’s not what I meant.”

Pushing against the back of his seat, Louis spreads his legs until his foot bumps Harry’s, laying his hand on the seat between them, drumming his fingers as he watches Liam and Zayn. They’ve been together for so long that they’re like parts of each other, and he doesn’t really think of them as a couple so much as two halves of the same whole. 

“You should’ve brought her tonight. You can’t always be the fifth wheel,” Louis says, not realizing the implications of his words until Harry stills beside him. As what he said echoes inside his head, Louis’ stomach sinks, but he tries to act normal, picking up his drink and taking a sip.

Eyebrows drawing together, Niall says, “That would be weird. It’s not like Bridget comes out with us.”

“Harry’s single, too.” Zayn taps his wrapped straw on the table, pushing the paper down to one end. He blows it at Louis, and says, “But it’s probably too soon to call him a fifth wheel.”

“Yeah, I mean, I was just saying that Niall’s always single or seeing someone new, so it’d be cool if he liked someone enough to bring them out,” Louis says, rolling his eyes dramatically. 

“Speaking of being single,” Liam says, pointing to Harry. “The dating pool here isn’t huge, but if you’re looking to meet someone, I might know—”

“No, um…” Harry shakes his head, tipping his glass side to side. “Still adjusting to the move. Haven’t even unpacked everything yet, so I’m not… I’m set for now.”

Shifting in his seat, Louis reaches over to rub his thumb along the outside of Harry’s thigh, hoping the gesture says what he can’t. Zayn’s statement that Harry’s single and Liam’s offer to introduce Harry to someone don't sit right with him. He spends the rest of the night zoning in and out of the conversation, thinking about Harry meeting someone else, dating someone else, and whether they’d keep seeing each other too, or if Harry would be a better man and break things off. 

By the time he heads home, he’s glad they didn’t ride together because he probably wouldn’t be able to keep himself from asking Harry what would happen. He knows he’d only be disappointed in his response. 

≈≈≈≈≈

On Saturday, Louis doesn’t work the parasail boat for the first time in years. He and Harry plan to leave around four in the afternoon, so they’ll miss the tourist traffic leaving Ocean Grove, and arrive in Riverton around eight that night. In order to have enough time to load up Harry’s Jeep and get on the road, Louis leaves the beach at two, heading home to shower and pack his bag. 

“Hey, babe,” Bridget says when he walks through the kitchen door. “Your clothes are in the dryer.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, dropping his keys into the bowl and walking around behind the dining table where she’s sitting with her laptop. He bends down to kiss her cheek. “What are you doing?”

“Window shopping,” she says, scrolling down the page so he can see. 

“Your car’s only, like, three years old,” Louis says.

“That’s why I said window shopping,” she says, clicking away to another page. “I was looking at couches too.”

Louis takes a deep breath, and keeps his thoughts to himself. They definitely don’t need a new couch. He loves their couch. It’s the third best place for napping, behind the hammock and their bed.

“I have to shower and pack,” Louis says, turning towards their bedroom.

Stepping through the bedroom door, Louis stops short at the sight of his duffle bag on the bed. When his brain catches up, and he realizes Bridget got it out for him, he hurries to his closet, holding his hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. The lockbox is right where he put it, hidden behind an old shoebox of ribbons and medals from his time on the swim team in highschool and college. Closing his eyes, Louis takes a deep breath, imagining how he’d explain a locked box of lube and condoms to Bridget. No matter what, her finding it would cause a fight, but maybe he could tell her he’s been thinking of spicing up their non-existent sex life. 

He showers quickly, and dresses comfortably, in shorts and a t-shirt. For the seminar, he packs a newer pair of lifeguard shorts and matching shirt, and just in case he needs them, he neatly folds the same polo shirt and linen shorts he wore that night in Hatteras, and lays them on top of the lockbox in his duffle bag. He’ll have to figure out a different hiding place, but he doesn’t have time to think about it right now. 

Harry meets him at the beach service storage building, and after they load up his Jeep, they’re on their way to Riverton. But not before they stop at Starbucks for two Grande Caramel Frappuccinos.

“Last time I was in Riverton was last year for Pride,” Harry says. 

Pride. It’s almost like Louis forgets that Harry’s gay most of the time. Which is rather stupid, all things considered, but it’s all a part of the clandestine nature of what they’re doing. 

Whatever this thing between them started as, it’s become a comfort, a haven, and when Louis feels that pull towards Harry, he goes, just because he can. 

Louis reaches over, catching a short, white curl between his finger and thumb, and tucking it behind Harry’s ear. “What’s that like? Pride, I mean. I’ve never been.”

“It’s, um…” Harry glances over, lower lip between his teeth. “Well, Riverton Pride is bigger than Crown Bay Pride. It’s the next week, actually. I didn’t have time to look into Ocean Grove Pride, so… Do you know when it is?”

Shaking his head, Louis says, “I don't know that we have anything locally.”

“Oh, well, um… Like you were saying about Bo? She might be interested,” Harry says, pouting the way he does when he’s thinking. “It’s probably small though. The Riverton one is decent sized. It’s downtown, the streets are blocked off, there’s music and stages and entertainment. Of course, there’s a parade, which is cool to watch. There are, like, stalls where you can buy stuff. It’s like any other type of festival that way, except everything’s gay.”

Laughing through his nose, Louis covers his face. “Sorry.”

“Ehh… It’s fun,” Harry says, smiling at him. “If Bo wanted to go, you could go with her. It’d be a way to see for yourself without, you know, needing to be sneaky about it.”

Louis frowns, licking his lips. He turns his head to watch the traffic as they pass by. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said that,” Harry says. 

“Don’t apologize,” Louis says, still looking out the window. “You can say whatever you want. And I’ll mention something to Bo. She’d probably be interested. I’m pretty sure her best friend is gay. Lesbian? Something. I don’t know.”

“I didn’t go to Pride the whole time I was with Steven,” Harry says. “He called it trashy. Low class. Honestly, can’t believe I stayed with him for so long.”

“He sounds lovely,” Louis mutters, instantly wishing he could take it back. 

“He could be. That’s the thing.” Shrugging, Harry adjusts his grip on the steering wheel and Louis watches the tendons in his hands. He clears his throat and says, “People aren’t perfect. I learned that a long time ago. But when I left Steven, I promised myself that next time—next boyfriend, next husband, next life—I’d try my best to make sure that our imperfections line up.”

Louis reaches for his cup, needing something to occupy his hands and his mouth. Hearing Harry talk about meeting someone, dating someone, marrying someone, even conceptually, is worse than Liam and Zayn at Whaley’s the night before, offering to set him up with someone. It makes his stomach froth with jealousy, and after he sets his drink in the cup holder, he grabs Harry's thigh, squeezing it possessively. Shifting in his seat, Harry spreads his legs slightly, as if to allow Louis better access to his body, and Louis smiles smugly. 

Just as they planned, they arrive in Riverton at eight o’clock that night, and when they find the hotel, Harry taps his phone screen. “There’s a restaurant around the corner. I’m going to check if we need reservations.”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s eight, and I don’t know when they close,” Harry says, rubbing his stomach. “Plus, expenses! I mean, I’m sure it’ll cost more than the food allowance Niall gave us, but I really don’t want to eat fast food for every meal.”

“Oh,” Louis says, parking the Jeep near the door. While they check in, he has to silently repeat to himself that they’re co-workers on a business trip. Of course they’re expected to share meals, to sit together in a restaurant. There’s nothing suspicious about any of it. No one knows. 

The restaurant is open until eleven, and they don’t need reservations, but Louis wants to change clothes, glad that he thought to bring something decent. 

“Nice,” Louis says when they walk into the room. He turns to Harry and winks. “Which bed do you want?”

“Hmm… I don’t know,” Harry says, scratching his chin as he walks over to the small table and sets his bag down in one of the chairs. Looking back and forth from bed to bed, he asks, “Which one do  _ you  _ want?”

“This one,” Louis says, as he throws himself onto the nearest bed. 

“Well, then that’s the one I want,” Harry says, crawling onto the bed, crooked grin on his face.

Louis pushes his bag onto the floor to make room for Harry, and it lands with a rattling thump.

“Oh, shit,” Harry says, peeking over the side of the bed. “Did something break?”

“No,” Louis says, rolling off the bed and onto the floor. He keeps his flaming face turned away from Harry while he moves the bag across the room. 

“How do you know? You should check,” Harry says. “It was loud, whatever it was.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine. Really.”

“Wow… You’re not fine right now. That much is obvious,” Harry says, and Louis gasps, turning towards him, narrowing his eyes. “Look at you. You’re blushing!”

“I am not!”

“You know what you should do is take your bag to the bathroom and check it in there,” Harry says, nodding sagely and pursing his lips.

“Oh my God, Harry. Open it.” Louis picks up the bag and tosses it on the bed. Harry unzips the duffle and pulls out the lockbox, holding it up and gently shaking it, frowning at it when what’s inside clatters around. “The combination is my birthday backwards.”

“Okay, so… four-two-two-one?” When Harry opens the box, his mouth drops open comically wide and he stares at Louis, dumbstruck.

“I didn’t mean to bring it with me, but it was in my closet at home, and when I was packing, I decided it wasn’t, um, hidden well enough. So I just stuck it in the bag,” Louis says, hoping Harry hears the truth in what he’s saying. “I didn’t mean anything by it. By bringing it. I’m not… I wasn’t expecting anything. From you. Sex wise.”

“I kind of want to let you keep talking in these stilted sentence fragments, but we’ve got a schedule to keep,” Harry says, pulling out the bottle of desensitizing anal lubricant. “Interesting. I’ve never seen this particular brand before. With clove oil, it says.”

“What kind of schedule?” Louis asks, then adds, “I bought that because of the clove oil.”

“Oh, you know, dinner…” Harry looks at the bottle again, reading the label. “Really? Why?”

“Because sometimes you smell like cloves. It reminded me of you and—” Harry barks a laugh so loud that Louis jumps. “Well, fuck you, too.”

“No, no, don’t be mad, Lou,” Harry says, unable to stop his giggles. “I use clove oil on my hair sometimes.”

“See. I knew you smelled like—”

“I’ve never put it on my asshole before though.”

“Harry!” Louis snatches the bottle from him, and puts it back in the box, locking it. “Anyway. I didn’t mean to bring it.”

“Hey…” Harry says, pouting and laying back on the pillows. “Are you mad?”

“A little,” Louis says, tucking the box back into his bag. 

“What if I tell you something embarrassing?”

Turning around, Louis says, “I might be less mad.”

“Okay,” Harry says slowly, rolling onto his side. “A few times a week, I massage clove oil into my scalp because it’s supposed to help with hair loss and I hate my receding hairline.”

“Does it help?” Louis asks, self consciously adjusting the way his hair lays across his forehead. 

Harry shrugs. “Not sure. But I think it sort of counteracts damage from the chlorine, so I keep using it.”

“Your hair’s great, you know,” Louis says, stepping closer to the bed and bending down to comb his fingers through Harry’s curls. “The white streaks, especially.”

“You don’t think they make me look older?” Harry asks, reaching up and brushing Louis’ hair out of his eyes. 

“I think they make you look…” Shaking his head, Louis climbs onto the bed, kneeling in front of him, searching for the proper word to substitute for beautiful. “Incredibly handsome. One of the first things I noticed about you on the ferry that day.”

Harry lets his head fall back on the pillow, smiling up at him, dimples deep in his cheeks. He purses his lips dramatically, and says, “Kissy?”

Rolling his eyes, Louis lays down beside him, leaning in and kissing him quickly, pressing his thumb into one of Harry’s dimples. “I noticed your hair and your dimples.”

Hand resting on Louis’ side, Harry nudges his nose against Louis’ cheek, and whispers, “Want to know what I noticed?”

“Sure,” Louis says, honestly curious what drew Harry to him in the first place, though it was probably the S.O.L.O. logo on his shirt. 

“This,” Harry says, sliding his hand over Louis’ hip to his ass, which he grabs and squeezes, startling a squeak out of Louis, then he smacks it, raising his eyebrows like a dare. 

“My ass?” Louis looks over his shoulder, catching sight of his bum in Harry’s hand. 

“You were leaning on the railing, sort of bent at the waist just a little, and your shirt was hiked up,” Harry says, demonstrating by pulling the hem of Louis’ t-shirt up to reveal a sliver of skin. He tugs on Louis’ shorts until the elastic waistband of his underwear is peeking out. “And I could see this, so I needed to talk to you face to face.”

“You mean, you needed to see my face,” Louis says, and Harry’s shit-eating grin is enough of an answer. More anxious than he’s ever been to hear someone’s opinion on his appearance, Louis asks, “Well? What was the verdict?”

Harry’s expression shifts, smile changing from delighted to fond, eyes dancing as he studies Louis’ face. Smirking, he pats Louis bum, and says, “I’m glad I noticed this first. I would've been too nervous to talk to you otherwise.”

Pulling back, Louis scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

All amusement gone from his expression, Harry says, “You’re breathtaking.”

“Oh,” Louis exhales, barely making a sound. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Harry says softly. A sly smile plays on his lips, and Louis can tell that whatever this moment was between them, it’s passed. “You’re a real silver fox.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis pushes Harry onto his back, crawling on top of him. “Oh! You said you had a schedule to keep. Did you want to go eat or was there something else you needed to do?”

“You,” Harry says, sticking his tongue out and looking up at him. “Or, rather, the other way around.”

It takes Louis longer to process Harry’s words than it should. “Harry, I swear I didn’t bring that stuff expecting you to—”

“But why waste it?” Harry asks, reaching up and pulling Louis down on top of him. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine.”

“No, no. I want to. I want—” Louis’ wants are lost in Harry’s mouth. 

While they kiss, Louis runs through everything he’s read about it, going over it step by step in his mind. Imagining touching Harry like that, so intimately, and going about it the right way to make sure it’s a pleasurable experience and not at all painful. 

Just thinking about it gets Louis hard so fast he feels dizzy, tugging on Harry’s lower lip with his teeth as he lifts his head. He sits back and yanks his shirt off, getting up to get the lockbox from his duffle bag. 

With shaking hands, he unlocks it, and sets it on the nightstand. “Pick your poison.”

“Going to try the clove oil stuff,” Harry says, plucking the bottle out of the box. “I’ve seen what you’re packing.”

“Packing,” Louis says with a quiet laugh. “Okay. I was planning to take my time, make sure, you know… Make sure you’re ready.”

“You want to do it?” Harry asks, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the floor. He lays back and shimmies out of his shorts and underwear, kicking them across the room, and Louis laughs, surprised at Harry’s excitement, but wondering if he made a mistake, if he’s not supposed to want to finger him.

It seems like foreplay, but maybe gay and bi men are as guilty of skipping or avoiding foreplay as straight men. Louis shakes his head. He’s never been one to skimp when it comes to doing a job, and he’s always tried to carry that into the bedroom. It’s just been a while. 

“Louis?” Harry's voice gets his attention, and Louis quickly steps out of his shorts and underwear, crawling back onto the bed on top of Harry. 

“Hi,” Louis says, dipping down and capturing Harry’s parted lips in a kiss. It only takes a moment to get back to where they were, except now they’re naked instead of humping each other with their pants on. 

He doesn’t mean to rush, but he kisses down Harry's neck and chest and stomach, almost perfunctorily, and Harry must sense his anticipation because he giggles, bending his knees and spreading his legs. 

As obsessed as Louis is with Harry’s taste and smell, he has to stop to bury his nose in the coarse curls at the base of his cock, and to lick the crease of his groin. He kisses the softness of Harry’s inner thigh, nipping at it. Struck by sudden inspiration, Louis sucks at the pale skin, pulling it between his teeth and Harry whines, tugging on Louis’ hair, but pushing him back down when he stops and lifts his head. With Harry’s encouragement, he sucks until he leaves a bruise. 

That done, Louis sits up in his knees, trying to hold his hands steady while he unwraps, then uncaps the lube, peels off the protective seal, puts the cap back on, pumping it over and over until it finally squirts onto his fingertips. Harry laughs at him the whole time, which helps. It takes some of the pressure off, knowing that he’s about to have sex with a man with a sense of humor. Knowing he’s about to have sex with a man, well, he can’t think about it like that. 

Looking down between Harry's legs, Louis rests his clean hand on Harry’s knee while he slips his fingers between his cheeks, smearing the lube over his crack and his rim, and adding more immediately. He makes sure to coat his index finger completely before gently pushing his fingertip inside. 

“Tease,” Harry says, and Louis feels the back of his neck start to flush. 

“I…” Louis frowns, unable to find words, too fascinated by how hot and tight Harry’s body is around his finger as he slowly works it past the rim. Reading didn’t prepare him for the real thing and he’s never been so nervous. 

“Can’t touch you,” Harry complains, reaching out and wiggling his fingers towards Louis’ hand on his knee until he grabs hold of Louis’ wrist. 

“What do you—” Falling forward the second Harry pulls on his arm, Louis scrambles to catch himself, finger slipping free. “What are you doing?”

“Wanted to touch you,” Harry says with a shrug. “Now, get back to work.”

“You’re bossy,” Louis says. It takes him a moment to get comfortable between Harry's legs, and to position himself where Harry can touch him freely, and he winds up half on top of one of Harry’s thighs with Harry’s fingers tangled in his hair. Harry holds his other leg behind the knee, pulling it up and Louis has the urge again to bury his face between Harry’s legs, but he refrains. 

Instead, he pumps more lube onto his fingers and goes back to the task at hand. One finger is such a tight fit that it seems impossible that he can slide another one inside, let alone his dick, despite what the internet and Harry tell him. He ignores Harry’s demands for a second finger, fucking him slowly with one until Harry pulls his hair. 

“Ouch,” Louis grumbles, biting Harry’s thigh. “Jesus Christ. You’re so impatient.”

“Can’t help it,” Harry says, scratching Louis’ scalp and soothing the sting. “I want you to fuck me and then I want dinner.”

“Oh. I forgot about food,” Louis says, pushing his middle finger inside, and marveling at how Harry’s body gives way and allows it. Harry laughs, soft and quiet and fond, and he twists his fingers in Louis’ hair, smiling until the pads of Louis’ fingers brush against something and Harry sucks in a sharp breath. 

Feeling like an explorer on a mission to go where he’s never gone before, Louis grins proudly, rubbing over Harry’s prostate again, but his grin falls away when Harry wraps his fingers around his cock and starts to jerk off. Louis swats his hand away, and gets to his knees between Harry’s legs, bending down and taking the head of Harry’s dick into his mouth. There’s no way he can concentrate on blowing him properly, but he can tease him with his lips and tongue while he plunges two fingers in and out. 

“Lou!” Using his grip on Louis’ hair, Harry stops him from sucking his dick, but he can’t stop Louis’ fingers. “Louis, you’ll make me come.”

Pouting, Louis slows down. He finds the lube in the sheets and adds more, fitting his ring finger alongside the other two, accidentally nudging Harry’s prostate and making him gasp. Three fingers stretch Harry’s rim obscenely, but Louis doesn’t get the chance to see what four fingers look like with Harry’s body tight around them because Harry pushes him away with his foot, and rolls over, getting on all fours. 

“I don’t know what I expected,” Louis mutters, crawling up behind Harry and smoothing his hand over Harry’s back to his bum. Trying to control his nerves and keep his hands from shaking, Louis lines up, head of his cock pressed against Harry’s wet rim.

“Did you—” Harry looks over his shoulder, then reaches into the crumpled mess of bedding, pulling a condom out of the folds of the blanket. “Condom.”

“Shit. Sorry,” Louis says, taking the packet and wiping his hand off again. It’s easy to forget; it's been decades since he’s worn one, but he doesn’t explain. 

“It’s not… I mean, if we were… It would be different if we were, you know…” Harry faces forward, not finishing his thought, and Louis is grateful for that. The slip up with the condom was enough of a reminder that they shouldn’t be doing this. 

Louis rolls on the condom, and slicks up his dick, taking a deep breath. With one hand on Harry’s hip, he tries to push in, but everything is covered in lube and Harry’s so tight that his dick slides along his crack instead. Embarrassed, Louis shuts his eyes tight, steeling himself to try again. 

“Stop teasing,” Harry says, watching him over his shoulder and shaking his ass side to side. “Louis Tomlinson the Tease.”

Stilling, Louis blinks at him. “When I was on the swim team, they used to call me Tommo.”

“Tommo the Tease, then,” Harry says with a laugh. “Fuck me.”

“I can’t believe how bossy you are,” Louis says, shaking his head and smacking Harry’s ass. “You're not like this with blow jobs.”

“Because I have your dick in my mouth,” Harry says, bobbing his head like he’s giving the pillow a blow job. “Or you have my dick in your mouth.”

Louis smacks his ass one more time, enjoying the pink hand shaped mark on the pale skin of Harry’s bum, but he shifts forward, and tries again. This time he slides his dick up and down Harry’s crack on purpose, pushing against his rim until the head pops inside. Eyes wide and mouth hanging open, he takes a steadying breath and guides his cock into Harry’s body until the front his thighs touch the back of Harry’s. He has to stop there, overwhelmed by the heat and pressure. 

Before Louis is ready, Harry rocks back and forth on his knees, fucking himself. Not content to watch while Harry gets himself off, Louis grips Harry’s waist, and drives forward, forcing him to grab hold of the headboard for leverage. 

“Yes,” Harry hisses, meeting his movements, and Louis moans, fucking him harder. 

After that, it’s as if Louis has tunnel vision, solely focused on finding Harry’s prostate amidst the friction and growing heat, gradually shifting the angle of his hips. When he does, Harry yelps, and Louis lets loose a short, surprised laugh. 

“Like that, baby?” Louis asks, surprising himself with the endearment. He bites his lip, skimming one hand over the muscles of Harry’s back. 

Grunting in response, Harry drops his head down. No longer able to match Louis’ rhythm, Harry goes still, arching his back. He balances with one hand on the headboard, and reaches for his cock, jerking himself off while Louis dicks in deep, staying there and keeping his thrusts short and fast. Wholly unprepared for Harry’s orgasm, Louis struggles to fuck him through it, coming as Harry’s muscles contract and release around him. 

“Jesus Christ, Louis,” Harry says, visibly trembling, but remaining on his hands and knees, even after Louis slips his softening cock free. Staring at Harry’s stretched rim, Louis traces it with his fingertip. With a quiet whine, Harry moves away from his touch. “Can you, um… get me a towel or something?”

“Yeah, baby. Yes,” Louis says, standing and hurrying to the bathroom on shaking legs. 

Kneeling on the bed when Louis returns, eyes wide with glee, Harry extends his cupped hand full of come and says, “I caught it all!” 

Louis rushes over and helps him clean his hand, both of them giggling as they wipe up the mess. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about the bedding. Should’ve put a towel under you or something.”

“Live and learn, I guess?” Harry laughs, getting to his feet and balling up the dirty towel. “I need to shower. Do me a favor?”

“Sure,” Louis says.

Pursing his lips, Harry asks, “Call me baby again?” 

“Sure, baby,” Louis says, cradling his jaw and pulling Harry into a kiss. 

“One more favor? Order dinner from that restaurant? I’m not going anywhere after getting fucked like that,” Harry says, ducking into the bathroom. 

Warmth spreads through Louis’ body, cheeks flushing with pride that he’s able to get that kind of reaction from Harry. It was an amazing experience for him, too, though in the moment he was more concerned about coming too fast. Rather than hide out in their room, he has the urge to parade around with Harry at his side to let the world know how well he’s able to satisfy him, but he’ll do as Harry asks.

“What do— What do you want?” Louis calls after him, scratching at the line of hair beneath his belly button while he searches for his phone. 

“Anything! I’m not picky!”

Sitting naked on the edge of the bed, Louis finds the restaurant’s website, and places an order for the two meals that he thinks Harry would most enjoy based on what little he knows about what foods he likes. He gets dressed, though it takes him a minute to find his shirt because it somehow landed behind the television, and peeks into the bathroom, watching Harry in the bathtub.

“That’s not a shower,” Louis says, holding onto the door jamb and leaning into the room.

“Decided on a bath,” Harry says, grinning at him from his tub full of bubbles. “Want to join?”

Louis lets his gaze travel down from Harry’s face to his neck and chest, wet and pink from the hot water. He shakes his head. “I would, but I’m going to go pick up our food. Want anything else? Wine? Beer?”

“No,” Harry says, sinking further under the bubbles and blowing Louis a kiss. “Hurry back.”

They eat dinner in their underwear, sitting on the bed, and share a piece of cheesecake that Louis ordered at the last minute. Laying in bed with Harry, both of them sober, is something he wants to remember, so he stays awake long after he should be fast asleep, softly caressing Harry’s arm, cuddled up to his back, listening to his quiet snores. 

In the morning, the seminar goes as well as can be expected, and soon they’re on the way home. The ride back is subdued, and they listen to music the whole time. Harry plays  _ All Things Must Pass _ and sings along to every line of every song, looking out his window, holding Louis’ hand over the center console. 

At the beach service storage shed, they unload Harry’s Jeep, and after making sure no one else is around, Louis hides his lockbox back under his desk. It’s the safest place for it. They stay there for a while, in the cool air conditioning of Louis’ office, and though they could probably spend the afternoon at Harry’s apartment, neither of them bring it up. With one last kiss, they say goodbye, and Louis heads home.

≈≈≈≈≈


	7. Chapter 7

≈≈≈≈≈

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Bridget sings when Louis walks through the door. “How was it?”

“Fine,” Louis says, dropping his keys in the bowl. He leaves his flip flops inside the garage and closes the door, walking around the counter to the kitchen where Bridget’s standing in front of the stove. 

“Fine?” she asks, and he shrugs, setting his duffle bag down on the floor. “No problems?”

“Nope. It was good. The rec center there was ready for us. Their pool area is huge with a big set of bleachers.” Leaning against the open doorway into the kitchen, Louis says, “Not much to tell. We got in last night, ate some dinner, and crashed. Did the seminar this morning.”

Lying shouldn’t come so easily, but the words sound true to his own ears, despite the guilt that accompanies them. Relieved when she doesn’t do more than hum in response, Louis crosses the kitchen to peek over her shoulder, and she watches him, smiling and nodding at the cutting board in front of her. “Decided to try to make a pie.”

“A pie?” Louis asks, picking up a slippery slice of peach and popping it into his mouth. 

“Stop it! That’s pie filling,” Bridget says, pointing her knife at him until he backs up, hands in the air. “Andrea went peach picking. She brought back so many and I didn’t know what to do with them, so I figured I’d give it a shot.”

“You want me to make dinner?” Louis offers, opening the fridge to see what’s inside. “What…”

“I’m making a whole meal, Louis,” Bridget says, pointing to the pie plate on the top shelf. “Hand me that pie shell. I’ll get this in the oven, then start on the chicken. If you’re good, I’ll let you cook the corn on the cob on the grill.”

Raising his eyebrows, Louis sets down the pie shell and snatches another peach slice. “Bo back yet?”

“No, but soon, I think,” Bridget says, rolling out another sheet of pastry dough. “She said she’ll be here for dinner.”

“You guys make up?”

“I apologized, she apologized, we both cried. It was good,” she says, and Louis snorts quietly, opening the oven door for her to slide the pie inside. “I just… I don’t want her to go. I’m going to miss her so much.”

“Oh, babe… Come here,” Louis says, pulling her into a hug and rubbing her back. It’s instinctive, comforting her. He doesn’t notice he’s doing it until he’s already holding her, and then the glaring differences hit him. Holding her is nothing like holding Harry. Physically, it’s comfortable because he and Bridget have been together for so long, but with Harry, his lips automatically find that spot on his neck, and his fingers tangle themselves in Harry’s curls without him thinking about it. He knows, if he were holding Harry, he’d pull back, kiss the tip of his nose, and make every effort to get him to smile. “I know. It’s the worst, thinking about her leaving.”

Bridget lifts her head from his shoulder, and says, “I have to set the timer for the pie.”

“Alright,” Louis says, letting her go and brushing flour off his shirt. “Anything you need me to do?”

“No, I’ve got it,” she says, setting the oven timer and turning to rest her hip against the counter. “Just the corn, but later.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Louis says, picking up his duffle bag to take to the bedroom. “Might as well empty this now.”

“Oh! I do have one more thing,” Bridget says. “Invite Harry for dinner on Friday. I still haven’t met him and Bo says he’s great, so… Please?”

Louis nods, backing out of the room, stomach churning and heart heavy. “Yeah, I’ll ask him.”

≈≈≈≈≈

Harry actually shows up at the beach Monday morning to surf and watch the sun come up, but Bo’s there too, having ridden down with Louis since they both have to go to work afterwards. While he probably could ask Harry about dinner in between waves, he doesn’t, too nervous about his reaction. Whatever it is, it’ll be understandable, even if he laughs in Louis’ face. Instead, Louis waits until that afternoon, when he’s in his office, going over the timesheets from the previous week. 

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Need to ask you a huge favor  
  
**Harry:** Ask away  
  


Louis’ hands shake as he types out the message, and he reads it over and over before hitting send. His phone vibrates almost as soon as the message goes through. 

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Bridget would like to invite you to dinner at our house Friday night  
  
**Harry:** Lol no  
  
**Louis:** Can you please consider it?  
  
**Harry:** No fucking way. Tell her I’ve got to work or something  
  
**Louis:** Fine but that’s only going to put her off until next week  
  
**Harry:** Not my problem. Have Niall over or someone else  
  
**Louis:** She wants to meet you because we’ve been working together all summer  
  
**Harry:** ¯\\(ツ)/¯  
  
**Louis:** What if I invite all the guys? So it’s like a cookout in the backyard  
  
**Harry:** No  
  
**Louis:** Will you at least think about it and let me know tomorrow?  
  
**Harry:** Sure!  
  
**Harry:** But you can guess what my answer will be  
  
**Louis:** Thanks  
  


Resting his forehead on his desk, Louis groans miserably. 

That night, Harry doesn’t respond to his ‘sweet dreams’ text, and the next day, Harry doesn’t show up at the beach for the sunrise, and doesn’t text Louis all day. When Louis gets to the rec center early for Junior Guards, he finds Harry in his office with his desk phone to his ear. Harry waves him away with a frown, so Louis goes to Niall’s office and plops down in the chair across from him. 

“What’s up?” Niall asks, tipping his head. 

“Bridget wants to have all you guys over for a cookout Friday night. Bring a date, if you’re still seeing that golf pro.”

“Cool. But, nah. Things didn’t work out with Audrey,” Niall says, unlocking his phone and, presumably, adding it to his calendar. 

“Really?” Louis asks. “You guys just went out Friday.”

“She’s looking for something casual, and I’m… I don’t know. Tired of casual,” Niall admits. “You invite everybody yet?”

“Liam and Zayn, yeah,” Louis says, which is only partially a lie. He hasn’t confirmed for Harry that the guys are coming, and they haven’t spoken, so it’s possible he’s changed his mind. “I’ll ask Harry as soon as he gets off the phone.”

“Ask me what?” Harry asks from the hall just outside the door to Niall’s office. 

“Cookout. Friday. Louis’ house,” Niall says, pointing his finger guns at Harry and winking. “Be there.”

Clenching his jaw, Harry nods once, and starts down the hall. 

“Later, Ni,” Louis says, taking off after Harry, regretting bringing the cookout up with Niall, and wishing he never asked Harry in the first place. 

Apparently, Harry’s faster than he is because he’s already on the far side of the pool area, opening the employee locker room when Louis steps through the door. Louis jogs around the pool, slowing down when he sees some of the Junior Guards already on the bleachers. 

“No running on the pool deck, Coach Louis!” Jeremy calls out, and Louis lifts a hand, nodding. 

He ducks inside the locker room, checking quickly to make sure no one’s around, but there’s a shower running, so they’re not alone. 

“Hey,” Louis whispers. “Harry? Where are you?”

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Harry yells, voice coming from the shower stalls. 

“Are you in the shower?” Louis asks, bending down to look under the shower doors. He stops outside the one with running water. Harry’s feet are clearly visible and it’s obvious he’s sitting on the bench in the little cubicle between the shower and the locker room. “Harry?”

“Go wait on the pool deck,” Harry says, voice cold and hard.

“Fine,” Louis says, straightening up and crossing his arms. “Just so you know, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Harry laughs ruefully. “I’m sure.”

“I didn’t!”

“Please, just go.”

Louis turns on his heel and leaves the locker room. He has to start the Junior Guards class alone, and Harry joins him a few minutes later. From his appearance, nothing is wrong. His eyes aren’t red, his face isn’t flushed or blotchy, and he acts perfectly normal with the class. With Louis, it’s another story. 

For two hours, Harry never makes direct eye contact with him, looking past him or over his head when he absolutely must face him. And when Junior Guards is over, Harry follows the kids out of the pool area, leaving Louis to clean up. Not that there’s much to do, but he doesn’t come back. 

On Louis’ way out, he checks Harry’s office, but it’s locked and dark, and his Jeep isn’t in the parking lot. Just in case, Louis drives down by the airport, but the old parking lot is empty, so he goes home. 

That night before bed, Louis opens his phone to text him, but stops himself. They don’t speak again until Thursday, and even then, it’s after Junior Guards, in hushed whispers while they clean up. 

As soon as the door shuts, leaving them alone on the pool deck, Louis softly says, “Harry, please—”

“Stop it,” Harry says, carrying Derek the Dummy to the storage closet. 

“Come on, man,” Louis says, following him with the rescue cans and tubes.

“No,” Harry says, shoving Derek onto his shelf. “We can talk after. At the airport lot.”

“Okay,” Louis says with a relieved sigh. “Want to ride together or—”

“No,” Harry says, heading back out to the big pool. 

Not wanting to push Harry or upset him, Louis keeps his mouth shut. 

≈≈≈≈≈

He leaves first, driving to Krispy Kreme and picking up two glazed donuts, hoping that the peace offering will soften Harry towards him. When he pulls into the space beside Harry’s Jeep, he smiles, holding up the little green and white paper bag, but Harry is completely unimpressed. Even when Louis slides into the passenger seat and offers him the bag, Harry just shakes his head.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Louis says, turning in his seat and pulling his knees up. All he wants to do is lean across the console and kiss him, but it probably wouldn’t go over well. “You don’t have to come to dinner. I’m sorry I even asked. It’s just, it was the third time she asked me and I— I didn’t mean for Niall to say anything to you. I swear. I’m sorry.”

Harry takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out, frowning while he fiddles with his fingers in his lap. “I’ll be there tomorrow night.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Yeah, I kind of do. I’m off at five tomorrow. Niall knows because he makes the schedule.” Finally, Harry meets his eyes and says, “There’s no reason for me not to go. Except, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers, reaching across the center console and rubbing his thumb back and forth over the outside of Harry’s bicep. As terrible as it is, excitement zips up his spine at the prospect of Harry coming to his house. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?” Harry scoffs, shaking his head, but he doesn’t pull away from Louis’ touch. 

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something. Promise,” Louis says, sliding his hand up to cup the back of Harry’s arm. “Baby?”

Pouting, Harry turns to look at him. “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” Louis asks, and Harry bites his lip, slowly blinking his eyes closed. He nods, leaning in to meet Louis halfway. 

≈≈≈≈≈

All day Friday, Louis feels like shit. He’s not sick, he’s just anxious to the point of nausea with a killer tension headache. It’s noticeable, though, and Liam sends him home around two o’clock to take a nap and rest so he’s ready for everyone to show up at his house that night. He does as he’s told, and while a hot shower helps some, it’s not a miracle cure. A few times, he considers texting Harry, but he’d have to explain why he left work early, and the last thing he wants is to put his own stress on Harry. 

By the time five o’clock rolls around, he’s feeling okay, so he starts getting everything ready, making burger patties, slicing tomatoes, and pulling out plates and silverware while Bo makes sure the furniture in the backyard is clean. When Bridget gets home, she changes into casual clothes, and sets up the bar on the kitchen counter. They work together to get it all done, and when Niall arrives, they’re already out in the backyard. 

“How am I the first one here?” Niall asks, sitting on the patio beside Louis. 

“You’re early,” Bridget says, passing him a beer. 

“Nah… Am I?” Niall asks, and Bridget laughs. 

“When did Louis tell you to be here?” she asks.

“Five-thirty,” Niall and Louis say in unison, and Louis grins.

“It’s six-fifteen,” Bridget says, tapping her wine glass against the side of Niall’s beer bottle. 

“When’d you tell everyone else to be here?” Niall asks.

“Six-thirty,” Bridget and Louis say together, and Niall rolls his eyes.

“Can’t trust you now, Louis,” Niall says, shaking his head and grinning. “Can’t believe you lied to me.”

Even though Niall’s obviously joking, Louis feels a little ill at the accusation. He sits up, clearing his throat and reaching for the one drink he’s decided he’s having tonight before he switches to water. “It is what it is, Niall. Had to get you here on time.”

“Well,” Niall says, tipping back his beer and taking a long swallow. “Here I am.”

“I should start the grill,” Louis says, finishing his drink and pushing his chair back. “Heat it up before everybody gets here.”

“Too late!” Bo yells from the hammock, pointing at the gate. 

Louis stands, watching as Zayn, Liam, and finally Harry walk into the backyard. It’s only been a day since they’ve seen each other, but he’s missed Harry, and seeing him like this, in the backyard of his own house, has Louis’ heart leaping into his throat. 

Gorgeous in everything, Harry looks especially so in white shorts and a barely buttoned pale blue shirt that flows loose around his torso, revealing his tan chest and toned upper abs. He meets Louis’ eyes, and smiles, but it’s not the smile Louis is used to. This one’s hesitant and polite and doesn’t show any teeth. 

Bridget’s halfway across the yard to greet Harry when Louis gets into gear and hurries after her, wanting to get there first or at least at the same time. He catches up, resting his hand on her lower back out of habit, and Harry’s eyes follow the movement. The smile on his face tightens, and he swallows, extending his hand towards Bridget.

Before Louis can say anything, Bridget speaks up, “You must be Harry!”

“And you must be Bridget,” Harry says, eyes going wide when she bypasses his hand and greets him with a hug. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Bridget says, gesturing to the yard and the house. “Make yourself at home. We have drinks in the kitchen—beer, wine, sodas, liquor—and Louis was just about to heat up the grill.”

“Thanks, um… I’ll just say hello to Niall,” Harry says, and Louis starts counting down the minutes until the night will be over.

Bridget smiles, watching Harry walk away, and says, “He seems nice. And he’s so cute.”

“Bridget, please,” Louis says, frowning and rubbing his temples. “He’s a grown man.”

“Fine. He’s handsome,” she says. “Is that better?”

“Not really,” Louis says, starting for the grill, but she follows.

“Are you jealous, babe?” Bridget asks, sidling up next to him at the grill and slipping her arm around his waist. She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, and Louis checks to see if Harry’s watching, hoping he’s not. He is. Sitting at the table with Zayn and Liam, he’s facing right towards Louis, but he drops his chin, looking at his lap.

“No, just… my headache from earlier is back,” Louis says, and it is. With a vengeance. 

“I’ll get you something,” Bridget says, heading inside. 

Once he gets the grill going, Louis looks up, and just as he does, Harry turns to talk to Niall, so he follows Bridget inside to get some ice water and take something for his head. Louis stops at the edge of the kitchen to watch Liam and Zayn play-fighting over the bottle opener, each of them trying to open the other’s beer. 

“Cute,” Louis says, stepping around them and grabbing a bottle of water. Bridget tosses him the bottle of Tylenol and nods towards the backyard, walking that way. 

“We are, thank you very much,” Zayn says, hopping up onto the counter and holding the bottle opener just out of Liam’s reach. When Liam leans in and goes up on his toes to get to it, Zayn sneaks a kiss and hands him the bottle opener. 

“Fifteen, sixteen years together and you’re still as obnoxious as you were when you first met,” Louis says, though it’s amazing to think about it that way. Things with Bridget calmed down early on, though they were never as touchy-feely as Liam and Zayn are. 

“Planning to be obnoxious for eternity,” Liam says, opening their beers and passing one to Zayn. He slips down off the counter and takes Liam’s hand as they leave the kitchen. 

Louis swallows the Tylenol, then makes a detour past the bathroom to splash cool water on his face. He stays in there for a few minutes, angry at himself for not thinking of an excuse to keep Harry from having to do this. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the anticipation of his wife and his lover sharing the same space gave him a thrill, but he doesn't know what he was thinking. It doesn't escape his notice that he's more concerned about Harry than Bridget, and the realization makes his head pound harder.

Disgusted with himself, he walks outside again, and immediately wants to turn around and go back in.

“So, you moved here from Crown Bay?” Bridget asks, scooting her chair closer to Harry’s. 

“Yep. Niall rescued me from the Crown Bay YMCA,” Harry says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I moved here in June.”

Niall talks over him, laughing as he says, “Right after they came back from the S.O.L.O. Conference in Hatteras. Still think that’s so wild—”

“You were there too?” Bridget asks, looking from Harry to Louis, confused.

“Yeah, I told you that, didn’t I?” Louis calls out from behind the grill. 

“I don’t remember,” Bo says from the hammock. 

“Maybe you did,” Bridget says, shaking her head and turning back to Niall. “Nice of you to rescue Harry, Ni. I’m sure he likes it better here than Crown Bay. People there can be so…”

It is, by far, the most uncomfortable night of his entire life. His headache never fades, some sort of cosmic karma for bringing Harry to his home, and introducing him to his wife. The only plus to the evening is when Zayn and Liam convince Harry to come to the beach the next day to go for a parasail ride. At least he’ll get to see him then. 

When everyone leaves at the same time, Louis walks them out, wanting to get a moment alone with Harry, but his Jeep is parked on the street, and after a quick goodbye to the group, he’s gone. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Saturday morning, Louis drives down to the beach in the dark alone. He sits on his board, waiting for the sunrise, and stays there, floating, watching the horizon for a while without trying for any waves. Yesterday was a mistake. A big mistake on top of a summer full of mistakes. Except, he can’t call them mistakes because every single one has been a choice that he made. And that he continues to make, since he’s planning to see Harry later today, and already trying to figure out a way to see him tonight, at least for a little while. 

The stress headache the previous evening, and the guilt he feels, both stem from forcing Harry into spending time with Bridget, not the other way around. Until last night, his relationship with Harry was a separate entity, completely detached from his marriage, but seeing Harry and Bridget in the same space, especially talking to each other, made him realize that no matter what, it’s all connected and tangled together. 

Still, anticipation buzzes under his skin all morning. He drives the boat up and down the beach, taking tourist after tourist on parasail rides, waiting for the call through the radio that Harry’s there, on his way out to the big boat. When he finally hears Harry’s name on the radio, it’s after three, and he’s one of only two riders. 

Zayn taxis them out to the boat, and Liam helps the paying customer on board, letting Harry climb up on his own. He sits in the bow near Liam, where the rest of the riders usually sit, instead of coming around where Louis is. Ignoring Liam’s instructions is a normal part of his day on the parasail boat, so Louis just waves as Zayn pulls away and heads back to shore, and waits for Liam to clap his hands, signalling the end of his spiel. 

As soon as he does, he helps the customer up onto the deck and into the safety straps and seat of the parasail. Liam’s great at this part, which is why it’s his job usually to talk to anyone who might be a little nervous. While he’s doing that, Louis turns on the engine, letting it idle, and when Liam gives him the signal, he shifts into gear and they’re off. The parachute billows out behind them, and slowly lifts into the air. 

Rides are half an hour long, and in that time, Harry stays put, chatting with Liam, and fully ignoring Louis’ presence. It’s hard not to feel like he’s being given the silent treatment, and it’s hard not to feel like he deserves whatever punishment Harry thinks is appropriate. 

“Louis,” Harry says, and hearing his name from Harry’s mouth makes Louis smile until he looks up and sees Harry’s furrowed brow and tired eyes. “Do you think… Could you go up with me? I’d like to talk and it’s just…”

Fumbling for the radio, Louis says, “Yeah, um, just give me a sec. I’ll get Zayn out here.”

It’s reckless and stupid and he’s bound to get shit from Liam and Zayn later, but he calls Zayn on the radio to meet them as soon as they reel in the parasail, and to bring one of the beachside guys with him, a kid named Tyler who drives the jet ski for the banana boat some days. 

When they tie up to the side of the boat, Louis leans over the side to talk to them, “Tyler, I need you to take the customer to shore. Zayn, need you on the boat with me. I’m going up with Harry.”

“What’s up?” Liam asks, helping the customer down the ladder and into the boat below. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Trying to smile convincingly, Louis explains, “Harry asked if I’d go up with him. No big deal. He, um, well, he’s never done it before, so he’s a little nervous, and I figured it’s the end of the day, almost closing time, so Zayn can reel us out, and you can drive the boat.”

“Sure, yeah,” Zayn says, nodding slowly and climbing aboard. “Let’s do it.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, just nods once, and takes his place at the helm. And Harry does seem nervous, though Louis is sure it’s nothing to do with the parasail and more to do with whatever he wants to talk about once they’re in the air. 

Side by side, buckled into the parasail seat, their thighs press together, and it’s the first time they’ve touched in days. Liam starts the boat, they move towards the horizon, and Zayn reels them out. It’s a beautiful view, but Louis can’t pay attention to it when Harry’s right there. 

“I’m sorry,” Louis says as soon as they’re out of earshot. “I shouldn’t’ve made you come last night.”

“You didn’t make me do anything, Louis,” Harry says, looking at the ocean below them. “I’m glad I went.”

Taken aback, Louis asks, “You are?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, turning to face him. “Remember when I told you that, after my divorce, I promised myself next time I’d make sure my imperfections lined up?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, rubbing his knuckles on Harry’s thigh, right where their legs are pressed together, and thinking about how well they fit. When he glances up to find Harry’s eyes filled with tears, he realizes what Harry’s saying.

“I can’t… I think… As long as Bridget was sort of imaginary for me... Before I met her, I could pretend she wasn’t real, or I could make her out to be… I don’t know… She loves you, Louis,” Harry says, blinking rapidly, and wiping his eyes with the back of his hands. 

“She does,” Louis says, combing his fingers through his hair. 

She’s loved him for nearly thirty years. Through high school and college and her parents’ divorce and her dad’s cancer and her mom’s subsequent breakdown and hospitalization. She’s loved him when they were poor and living in a studio apartment with no heat and through pregnancy scares when they were young and couldn’t afford a baby and finally through her pregnancy with Bo and everything for thirty years. All that time, he was sure he loved her too.

“I can’t do this. I thought… I thought, you know, maybe you’d leave her,” Harry says, laughing quietly and clearing his throat. “Sorry. It’s not funny, but it kind of is. I never thought I’d be that person. The other man.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Louis says, though he knows he’s said it before. “I really… I didn’t intend to— to keep doing this with you. I just… I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t know if I  _ can  _ explain it. I don’t think I even understand it myself.”

“I never would’ve slept with you in the first place if I’d known you were married,” Harry says, though Louis is well aware. 

“I know.”

“I keep thinking, like, if I could go back in time, change that… take that back… What would things be like now?”

“We’d be friends,” Louis says, absolutely sure of it. 

“If I’d never invited you in for coffee—”

“I should’ve said no and gone back to my room,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Harry, I shouldn’t have let it happen. I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

“So… We’re agreed?” Harry asks, sucking his lower lip between his teeth, and looking out over the horizon. “This is over.”

“Yeah,” Louis says quietly, blinking away tears as they gather in his eyes. An aching settles in his heart at the possibility of a future without Harry in it. “Can we… Do you think we can be friends?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says with a shrug. “I think we have to try. I like it here. I like the guys and my job and surfing and pancakes on Sunday…”

“You’ll come tomorrow? To see the sunrise?” Louis asks, hopeful that maybe just being in Harry’s presence will be enough. “And pancakes after? I’ll take Bo’s seat. She can sit between us. Or I’ll complain about elbow room or something and get us a table instead of a booth.”

Harry huffs a laugh and sniffs, nodding. “I’ll be there. And I… I’ve already reserved a second room at the hotel for next weekend. I mean, I didn’t tell Niall or anything, but—”

“I’ll pay for it,” Louis says. “If anyone asks, I’ll complain about your snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. 

“You do,” Louis says, keeping the rest of his thoughts to himself. It’s cute and soft and though he’s only heard it a few times, it’s one of his favorite sounds. He hates that he’ll never hear it again.

They stay up in the air for another ten or fifteen minutes, Louis isn’t sure, but they sit in silence, watching the ocean below them until Zayn reels them in. Harry stays on the boat with them until Tyler comes to taxi the three of them in, so Liam can head for the docks. 

Just as Louis is about to descend the ladder, Liam grabs his arm, leaning in and whispering, “Be careful with that, Louis. Use your head.”

Louis’ heart freezes at Liam’s words. He closes his eyes, nodding quickly, and as he climbs into the smaller boat, says, “Nothing to worry about, Li.”

In his haste to do whatever was necessary to appease Harry, he went too far. Calling Zayn out, leaving them shorthanded on the beach, all so he could go up on the parasail with Harry. Of course, Liam noticed, now that it’s over. 

≈≈≈≈≈

After a long night spent tossing and turning, Louis gets up and forces Bo out of bed. It’s the last Sunday they’ll be able to surf together for a while, and he isn’t above a little guilt to get her to join him, but it does cause them to run a bit behind. When Louis pulls into the parking lot, everyone else is already there. 

He and Bo paddle out just as Harry catches a wave, and their eyes meet for a second before Harry turns away. 

“I know your dad won’t be here next Sunday,” Niall says when they get closer. “But are you coming out for one last sunrise with the rest of us?”

“Maybe,” Bo says, sitting up to face the horizon. “Probably not.”

“Gah! My heart!” Niall grabs his chest, falling sideways off his board and sinking under the water.

“You’ve killed him,” Louis says, watching Niall’s bubbles burst on the surface. 

“I get his board,” Liam says, paddling closer and grabbing the nose of Niall’s surfboard. He pulls it towards him, and Niall pops up, tugging it back by the leash. 

“He’s resurrected!” Louis yells, lifting the front of his board and letting it smack down on the water, splashing Niall and Bo.

“Zombie Niall,” Niall says, climbing back on his board. “Seriously, though. I’ll miss you, Bo-Bo.”

“I’ll be home all the time,” Bo promises, pulling her long, blonde braid over her shoulder. “Do you think I’d look weird with short hair?”

“No weirder than you do with long hair,” Niall says, and Bo rolls her eyes. 

“You know what I mean,” she says, but Niall shakes his head. 

“I remember when you were, like, five, and you had the same haircut as Bridget,” Niall says, laughing at the memory. “Totally cute.”

“No, I mean, like, short short hair,” Bo says, tossing her braid behind her again. “Like yours or dad’s whenever he gets his once a year haircut.”

“Oh! Oh, then, same. You’d look just as weird as you do right now,” Niall says with a firm nod. 

“You’ll look great either way, Bo,” Louis says, looking up when Harry paddles closer. “And it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

“Were you thinking of donating it?” Harry asks, and Bo nods. “I did that once. Feels good to be able to help someone by just cutting your hair.”

“You had long hair?” Louis asks, as if that’s something he should’ve known. 

“Yeah, I mean, you have to have eight inches to donate, so it was pretty long,” Harry says with a shrug. “That was like, ten years ago though.”

“I’m trying to picture you with long hair,” Liam says, gently shoving Zayn’s shoulder. “I keep seeing what’s her face, though, Elvira, Mistress of the Dark.”

Harry throws his head back and cackles. “I love her! But no, it was sort of the same as it is now, but longer. Curlier, I guess, just ’cause there was more of it. A lot less grey back then, too.”

“Mine,” Louis says, nodding to an approaching wave. He paddles away from the group, ahead of the wave, needing some space to clear his head. There’s so much about Harry that he doesn’t know. And if he could, he’d spend as much time as possible learning everything about him. That there are things about Harry that he’ll probably never find out leaves a hollow feeling in his chest. He pops up, getting his footing, and rides the wave in as the sun takes to the sky. 

≈≈≈≈≈

At the pancake house, Louis manages to slide into the booth first, which puts him in the middle between Bo and Liam. Bo spends most of breakfast asking Harry about donating his hair, what it was like going from long to short so quickly, how many years he had long hair before he cut it, and if he ever regretted it, among other things. Louis sits quietly, sipping his coffee, eating his pancakes, and absorbing every word Harry says. 

“Hey, I had an idea!” Niall holds the pot of coffee in midair, then shakes his head, refilling Louis’ cup before filling his own. “I’ve got this friend. He manages a restaurant. Cool guy.”

“Okay…” Louis says slowly, tilting his head. 

“Not you, Louis,” Niall says, waving him off and turning sideways in his seat. “Harry. Would it be alright if I gave him your number?”

“What’s his name?” Harry asks, which is a perfectly reasonable question that shouldn’t upset Louis at all. 

“Lewis,” Niall says. “So it’s not weird for me to like, set you up on a date? Since I’m your boss. I didn’t know if—”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry says, eyes flickering to meet Louis’ and just as quickly darting away. “I mean, no promises, but you can give him my number.”

“Sweet. I’ll text him,” Niall says, looking around the table. “Anyone else need me to play cupid?”

“I think we’re good,” Louis says, struggling to keep his tone light. For the rest of the meal, and the rest of the day, he fights against the envy raging in his stomach. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Unfortunately, Louis’ jealousy doesn’t subside, and when he sees Harry on Tuesday for Junior Guards, he lets it have free rein, growing and swelling inside him until, like a bubble, it bursts out of him, uncontrolled. At least he manages to hold it inside until they’re alone on the pool deck. 

“Talk to Lewis yet?” Louis asks, the second the door closes behind their last student. 

“Who?” Harry asks, heading straight for Derek the Dummy and picking him up. 

“Lewis. The guy Niall’s setting you up with,” Louis says, smirking a bit. 

“Oh. No,” Harry says, walking away towards the storage closet, so Louis picks up the rescue cans and tubes and jogs to keep up. As soon as Louis is beside him, Harry adds, “Not that it’s any of your business, really. Why?” 

Louis scoffs, following him into the closet to put everything away. “I’m just saying, you move on fast.”

“You have some nerve,” Harry says, spinning on his heel. He reaches for the closet door and slams it, shutting them inside, the bare lightbulb swinging above their heads.  _ “You are married. _ And I can move on whenever, however I please. You have no right to be jealous.”

“Sorry if I thought this meant something to you,” Louis says, propping his hands on his hips and looking away, wishing he never mentioned Lewis. 

“You’re a real asshole,” Harry says, taking a step closer. “Yes,  _ this  _ meant something to me. This  _ affair, _ because that’s what it was. It still means something to me. That’s why it’s over. I couldn’t keep doing it when I… I have feelings for you, Louis.”

On some level, he knew, but hearing Harry say it makes it much more real, and he’s overcome with regret, at the same time wishing he could tell Harry the truth of his own heart. “I know. Shit. I’m sorry, I—”

“I spent ten years of my life in a relationship with a man who treated me like I wasn’t worthy of his love. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” Harry moves closer, eyes wild, and Louis doesn’t know how to respond.  _ “No, you do not. _ Because you have a wife! And she loves you! Are you so selfish that you have to have everyone else fall in love with you, too?” 

“No, I—”

“Don’t you think I deserve to go on dates?” Harry asks, a little quieter. He sniffs and rubs his eyes, growling when Louis opens his mouth to speak. “It would be different if you were closeted or something, but you’re married! If I can’t go on a date with my boyfriend because his wife might find out, then maybe I need a new boyfriend!”

“Boyfriend?”

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Louis? The married guy I’m half in love with? Fuck you.” Harry yanks open the door and storms out, leaving Louis standing there in shock. 

He doesn’t try to go after Harry. There’s really no point, unless he wants to get yelled at again. Instead, he waits until the next day because he’s off work, and it’s his only chance to get Harry alone for a few minutes to properly apologize before they have Junior Guards again on Thursday. 

A little after one o’clock Wednesday afternoon, Louis drives to the old airport parking lot, breathing a sigh of relief when he sees Harry's Jeep parked there. He pulls up beside him and rolls his window down, staying in his truck. 

Eventually, Harry rolls his passenger window down, scowling as he says, “What?”

“I just wanted to apologize for everything. For what I said Tuesday, because I have no right to say anything about you dating anyone, no matter what. And for all of it. For making your life harder, for making you uncomfortable, for hurting you. I’m sorry.” Louis closes his eyes, swallowing against the lump in his throat, and says, “I only came here to say that. So, again, I’m sorry. Really.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, voice barely above a whisper. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, and then Saturday, I guess,” Louis says, wondering how the five hour ride together will go and if Harry might leave him on the side of the highway if he gets annoyed.

Harry nods, then lifts his hand to wave, and rolls the window up. Louis waits until he gets home to bang his head against the steering wheel in frustration. One more week. Junior Lifeguards will be over, there will be no more seminars, and he and Harry won’t have any reason to see each other. Unless they want to. 

≈≈≈≈≈

On Wednesdays, Bridget usually gets home around six o’clock, so it’s a surprise to see her walk through the door at four, but Louis doesn’t get the opportunity to say so before he’s jumping off the couch, heading in her direction. 

“Holy shit! What’s wrong?” As soon as he asks, his heart feels like it stops and panic floods his system, but from her expression, he can tell she’s not upset with him.

Bridget takes a shaky breath, and says, “Andrea and Phil are getting a divorce.”

“Oh, babe…” Louis wraps his arms around her, rocking her back and forth. “I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

Nodding against Louis’ neck, Bridget says, “She will be. He’s always been such a shitty husband.”

“Good riddance, then,” Louis says, smoothing her hair where it’s messed up in the back. Hoping the answer is no, he asks, “Is something else bothering you?”

She nods again, and his heart clenches as she pulls back and looks him in the eye. “I just— I know things haven’t been great with us lately. We don’t take the time to connect anymore. And I— I love you. I don’t say it enough, but I do. And God, Louis, I’m so glad you’re you and not Phil.”

“He’s a dick,” Louis says, though he knows he’s no better. He might’ve crammed all of his shitty behavior into one summer and managed to keep it a secret, but maybe that’s worse. At least Phil doesn’t hide it. For a second, he thinks again about coming clean, but his guilt is heavy enough. He doesn’t know if he could handle Bridget knowing, seeing her hurt and angry. 

“He is, but you… I want us to work harder at this, you know? Make the next twenty-five years better than the first,” she says, hugging him tightly.

“Yeah, babe, sure,” Louis says, wondering if that’s even possible, if he can stay with her another twenty-five years or if the clock on their marriage is ticking so fast that he won’t last the month. 

In bed that night, Bridget cuddles up to his side. They don’t make love. They never do. But for the first time in years, he thinks about why that is, why it’s never bothered him to not have sex with her, why he’s always been perfectly content with a peck on the cheek, why sleeping apart has never been an issue. Even when they were young. Throughout four years of college, visiting each other a few times a month. She was his girlfriend, of course he missed her, but he never longed to be near her, to hear her voice, see her face. He never needed to be with her. With anyone.

Until Harry. 

Maybe he’s gay. Given all of the sex he’s had this summer, it’s quite possible. But it seems strange that he wouldn’t know for forty-seven years. Maybe he’s bi. Maybe it doesn’t matter. 

Bridget rolls over in her sleep, facing away from him. He stays awake, wishing he could’ve known his last time with Harry would be the last time. He would’ve made a point to memorize every second.

≈≈≈≈≈


	8. Chapter 8

≈≈≈≈≈

During Thursday’s Junior Lifeguard class, Louis goes through the motions. He arrives right on time. When it’s over, he silently helps clean up, and leaves afterwards with a simple goodbye. 

They plan to take Harry's Jeep again on Saturday, and are supposed to meet at three o’clock that afternoon to get on the road. Harry’s waiting for him at the beach service building when he gets there at quarter to three, and they pack up and go. 

An hour into a completely silent drive, Louis breaks. One last time. That’s all he wants. One more chance to touch Harry, smell him, taste him, hold him, listen to him sleep. And that’ll be enough. 

“This sucks,” Louis says, crossing his arms and glancing over at Harry. 

“Yep,” Harry says, widening his eyes and pressing his lips into a firm line as he nods. “Sure does.”

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Louis says, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Harry shrugs one shoulder. “Me too.”

“I miss you, you know?”

“Louis—”

“I do! You’re right here next to me and I miss you,” Louis says.

“I miss you, too,” Harry says, sighing quietly. “I was supposed to go out with Lewis last night, but I cancelled.”

“Really?” Louis asks, unable to keep the hope out of his voice.

“Don’t sound so excited,” Harry says. “We’re planning on doing something next weekend, when I don’t have to be out of town.”

“Oh, I… I mean, you’re obviously free to do whatever you want, Harry,” Louis says, turning in his seat to face him, and leaning just a little closer. 

“I know.”

“Listen, I… I know I’ve been an asshole, but…” Louis steels himself, ready for rejection, and asks, “Do you still think we can be friends?”

Harry looks over at him, then back at the road, brow furrowed. “Like I said before, we have to at least try.”

“Okay, so… friends can go to dinner together, right?” 

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take it,” Louis says, unable to stop his smile. 

They chat the rest of the way to Cunningham with Louis doing his best to keep the conversation light and friendly while his mind spins. 

Friends isn’t what they are, and he doesn’t know that they truly can be, despite telling Harry the opposite. Not when he can't look at Harry without wanting to touch him or talk to him without thinking of kissing his perfect lips. Once this last seminar is over, they only have two more sessions of Junior Lifeguards, then they won’t have to be together for work, and maybe Louis can take a step back from the other guys. After all, everyone will be expecting him and Bridget to spend time celebrating their empty nest now that Bo’s heading off to college. It’s a ready-made excuse. 

When they pull up at the hotel earlier than anticipated, Louis hurries to grab both of their bags from the back seat, wondering how much convincing Harry will need. 

“Okay, I’ll need the card each room was reserved with,” the woman behind the reservations desk, Patricia, according to her nametag, says, and Harry holds out two credit cards.

“The AmEx is for the one reserved under Ocean Grove Recreation Center,” Harry says, handing it to her. 

While they’re waiting, Louis pulls out his wallet, and when Harry starts to hand her his own card, he says, “Excuse me. Can I pay for the second room?”

“Louis, it’s not—”

“Please, let me,” Louis says, tapping his card on the countertop. When Harry nods, Louis says, “Patricia, hi. Sorry. I know it’s reserved with the one card, but can we switch it over to mine?”

It takes a few minutes, but soon enough they’re making their way up to their rooms.

“Dinner in… say an hour?” Louis asks, trying to sound casual. 

“Yeah, sure,” Harry says, sliding his keycard into the lock. The light on the door flashes green and he opens it, slipping inside. 

Louis unlocks his room, and hurries in, tossing his bag on the bed. After a quick Google search, he finds a CVS a few miles away, in the same shopping center as a Publix grocery store, and then he has to Google ‘taxis’ which leads him to downloading the Lyft app. A few minutes later, he’s on his way.

“Thanks,” Louis tells the driver, climbing out of the car. He’ll need to get another ride back, at least he thinks that’s how it works. Maybe he should’ve asked the guy to wait.

As quickly as he can, Louis buys everything he needs from both stores, hauling it back outside. A moment later, the same Lyft arrives to take him back to the hotel. 

“Thanks, man,” Louis says, shutting the door and balancing his purchases in his lap. 

Less than twenty minutes after they first checked in, Louis is back in his hotel room. He sneaks out one more time to the ice machine down the hall, and hopefully that’ll be enough, because he absolutely has to shower and he can’t be late for their date.

The little hair dryer in the hotel bathroom does a decent job, and Louis is squeaky clean, dressed, and ready with two minutes to spare. He plucks one of the roses from the dozen he bought at the grocery store, and carefully removes the thorns, double checks that there’s plenty of ice, and leaves a single lamp on so there will be no need to fumble in the dark later.

Smoothing the fabric of his polo shirt, Louis looks down at his clothes. They’re nothing fancy, but they should do, especially the shorts that are a little snug on his bum. He knocks on the door, holding the rose behind his back, stomach swirling with nerves.

“I thought you’d text when you were ready,” Harry says, pulling the door open. “Let me get my— What is this?”

Louis looks at the rose in his extended hand, then up at Harry. “A date?”

“A date,” Harry says, narrowing his eyes. 

“I figured I’d give it a shot,” Louis says with a shrug, handing Harry the rose. “No thorns.”

“Okay…” Harry says slowly, taking the rose. 

Taking a step back, Louis nods towards the elevators. “Shall we?” 

Still looking skeptical, Harry steps into the hall. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a little bistro across the street,” Louis says, walking close but making sure not to touch him. “I called ahead.”

“Optimistic,” Harry says, pressing the button for the elevator. 

“Table for two, table for one, not much of a difference,” Louis says with a shrug. The elevator dings, the doors open, and he waits for Harry to go first. 

It’s a short walk through the parking lot and across the road to the little bistro, where a round table in the corner is set for two, with a tiny candle in the center. Louis pulls out Harry’s chair, and Harry sits, watching Louis suspiciously while he lays his rose on the tabletop. 

“So…” Harry starts, then presses his lips together.

When he doesn’t say anything else, Louis taps the back of his hand, and says, “I’m not planning to drink anything, but if you’re interested, they have some nice tequilas at the bar.”

Picking up the small bar menu, Harry sits back in his chair, and Louis looks over the entrees. He’s not very hungry, too anxious, really, to want to eat much of anything. Something light, something mild… 

After they order drinks, some tequila that Louis has never heard of for Harry, and a glass of seltzer for himself, the server leaves their table, and Harry leans in, whispering, “What are we doing here, Louis?”

“Having dinner,” Louis says, perusing the menu in an effort to avoid eye contact. 

“You called it a date.”

“I did. I wanted to—” Taking a deep breath, Louis looks up, finally meeting Harry’s eyes. “I know it’s not  _ normal, _ because we’re here and not home, but I wanted to take you to dinner. You know, in public. On a date.”

“Oh, um…” Harry clears his throat, reaching for a drink that hasn’t arrived yet, and Louis realizes how ridiculous he sounds.

“We can— I can leave, actually. This was shitty of me, wasn’t it?” Louis asks, laying his napkin on the table and pushing his chair back. “You stay. Don’t worry about the bill. I’ll—”

“Sit down, Louis,” Harry says, and Louis sits. Smirking, Harry picks up the menu. “We’re on a date.”

Eyes wide, Louis reaches across the table, instinctively checking to see if anyone’s watching. He shakes his head once, and rubs his fingertip over the back of Harry’s knuckles until Harry lets him take his hand. 

“I don’t know what to get,” Harry says, frowning at the menu. 

“Whatever you want,” Louis says, hoping he has enough cash to cover it.

“Lobster?” Harry asks, clearly amused.

“Anything,” Louis says. Maybe he just won’t eat at all. Or he can use his credit card and come up with an explanation later. 

“Well, well, well,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ hand. “Just checking. I don’t like lobster.”

Louis snorts. “I figured I’d just have salad or something.”

“You’re serious,” Harry says, chewing on his lower lip and furrowing his brow. 

“Wanted to do something nice for you,” Louis says. “Figured you deserve it.”

“Louis, I… I don’t think this changes anything,” Harry says, pulling his hand away and hiding it in his lap. “We’re still sneaking around. You’re still married.”

Shaking his head, Louis mutters, “Yeah.”

“Then, let me repeat myself,” Harry says, sitting up a little straighter. “What are we doing here?”

“I want— I— I hate not being with you. I miss you so much and I don’t know how to stop and I just— I just wanted to do something that would make you—” Breathless from tripping over his words, Louis stops. “I wanted to make you happy.”

Harry watches him silently for a while, long enough that Louis starts to fidget with his hair. Finally, he says, “I wish you could.”

“Me too,” Louis whispers, leaning back as the server approaches. 

Dinner is not the romantic date he thought it’d be. Louis hardly touches his meal, but not because he’s nervous and excited. His appetite just isn’t there and all he wants to do now is go to his hotel room, crawl into bed, and cry. 

When they’re in the elevator on the way up to their rooms, Harry turns to him and says, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Louis says, stepping aside when the doors open so Harry can walk ahead of him. “Don’t be.”

“I know this isn’t how you wanted the night to go,” Harry says, stopping outside his room and shuffling his feet on the carpet. 

“No kidding,” Louis says, laughing quietly. “I really thought…”

“What?” Harry taps the toe of his shoe against Louis’ ankle. “What’d you think?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d want me. Want to be with me,” Louis says, pressing his lips together against the thought. One last time. 

“I do, Lou,” Harry says. 

That admission is the little push Louis needs. He unlocks his room, and opens the door, walking inside as he says, “Then be with me.”

Stepping into his room, Louis closes his eyes, embarrassed at the flowers, champagne, strawberries, and everything else he bought and did in preparation for tonight. Maybe none of it’s visible from the hallway. Shoulders slumping, he kicks off his shoes and turns to shut the door, stopping short when he sees Harry standing just inside his room.

“You’re—”

“You bought champagne?” Harry asks, looking at the little table Louis set up before they left for dinner. 

“Yeah, and strawberries,” Louis says, not sure what to do when Harry closes the door. “I mean, we have an early morning, but I thought we could have a little.”

“Open it,” Harry says, picking up a strawberry and holding it to his lips. He takes a bite, humming and closing his eyes. 

Carefully, because it’s been a long, long time since he’s opened a bottle, Louis unwraps the top, draping a washcloth over it, and wiggles the cork until it pops loose. Even expecting it, he jumps a little, laughing at himself. 

“I didn’t get glasses,” Louis says, pouring it into plastic cups and setting the bottle back in the ice bucket. “Figured we’d make do.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, taking his cup, holding Louis’ gaze while he sips. 

Louis gulps his champagne and immediately regrets it. He puts the cup down, rubbing his hands together, and says, “I don’t know what to do, now that you’re here.”

Biting his lip, Harry sets his cup on the table, looking Louis up and down. “Lou, can I…”

“Anything,” Louis says when he trails off. “Whatever you want, baby.”

Harry nods, and just like the first time, he cradles Louis’ face in his hands, kissing him. Unlike the first time, Harry slides his hands down Louis’ arms, and finds his waist, then his hips, and immediately bends down and lifts him up, startling a squeak out of him. Louis recovers quick enough, draping his arms over Harry’s shoulders, leaning down to kiss him again while Harry carries him across the room. 

Expecting to get dumped on the bed, Louis braces himself, but Harry kneels on the mattress and lays him down, holding him tightly with one arm and supporting their weight with the other until Louis’ back is flat on the mattress. Harry looms over him and Louis surges up, kissing him roughly and pulling Harry on top of him. 

Harry nips at his lips, and his mustache drags against the hairs of Louis’ beard as he kisses across Louis’ cheek and jaw and neck. He rucks Louis’ shirt up, sucking kisses to his collarbones and chest, and Louis takes his shirt off while he can, tossing it away. Desperate to get his hands on Harry’s skin, Louis tugs at the back of his shirt until Harry sits up and pulls it over his head, staring at him with parted lips, pink and wet. Chest heaving, Harry climbs off the bed, quickly unbuttoning Louis’ shorts and yanking them down, pushing his own to the floor. Louis is still kicking his underwear off his foot when Harry climbs back on the bed. 

Instead of lying between Louis’ legs, Harry crawls over him, caging him in with his body, dropping down onto his forearms when Louis reaches for him, missing the heat of his skin. He sucks kisses to the side of Harry’s neck, his earlobe, his shoulder, rubbing his nose over the spot behind his ear where his scent is stronger and breathing him in. 

“Want to fuck you,” Harry says, mumbling his words into Louis’ neck. 

“Anything, baby,” Louis says again, wishing it was possible to offer Harry everything and more. 

Nodding, Harry presses a kiss to Louis’ shoulder and sits up. He laughs, shaking his head at Louis’ display of lubricants and condoms on the nightstand. “You really were optimistic.”

“Maybe,” Louis says, grabbing the lube and placing it in Harry’s hand. The second he does, his lack of experience hits him and he closes his eyes, remembering the things he’s read. “Want me to roll over?”

“No,” Harry says, opening the lube. “Wait. Yes. Can I eat you out?”

Louis’ eyes fly wide open. “You— You want to?”

“If that’s okay,” Harry says, almost warily, but Louis nods, rolling over onto his stomach and hiding his flaming face in his folded arms. 

This is the last thing he thought would happen tonight, and though he did sort of prepare for anything, he’s never even been touched there by another person. After he read up on anal sex, he did a little exploring in the shower, even used some lube to see what the difference was, but one or two of his own fingers is nothing compared to Harry’s cock. And Harry’s mouth on his dick is a far cry from Harry’s mouth on his asshole. Yet, he definitely wants all of it. 

“Relax, Lou,” Harry says, nudging Louis’ legs apart with his knees. The warmth of Harry’s hands on the back of his thighs is a welcome touch, but as he slides them up, Louis involuntarily clenches his muscles, and Harry laughs, tapping his fingers on Louis’ bum. With his face buried in his arms, Louis takes a breath and forces his muscles to relax. “There we go.”

Harry leans down and leaves a kiss in the center of Louis’ lower back, gently gripping his ass, and pulling his cheeks apart. Belatedly, Louis wishes he’d thought to turn the lights off, but it would be even more humiliating to do so now. The heat of Harry’s exhale against his skin gives him goosebumps, and the first swipe of Harry’s tongue has him at war with himself, wanting more, but ashamed of his desire. Harry doesn’t give him the chance to think it over, licking from just behind his balls to the base of his spine over and over, getting him wet before pressing his face between Louis’ cheeks and focusing on Louis’ rim. 

It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, quite literally, but the pleasure from Harry’s tongue alone takes his hesitance away, and his cock begins to thicken back up, caught between his body and the bed. Harry moans, and Louis has the presence of mind to wonder why before he remembers his own obsession with Harry’s taste and smell, and after that, the only thing he can think of besides the ecstasy of Harry’s mouth on him, is what it might be like to pry Harry’s cheeks apart and bury himself there, tasting the darkest and dirtiest part of him. He’s hit by a pang of jealousy at the thought of someone else touching Harry like that, and he blinks, face still hidden in his arms, swallowing hard. 

The tip of Harry’s tongue breaches his rim, and Louis finds himself pushing against it, wanting all of Harry inside of him, as absurd as that seems. As if Harry can read his mind, he slips his fingertip along Louis’ crack, tugging at his rim. 

“Need to fuck you,” Harry says, sitting up. 

Craning his neck to look around, Louis watches him drizzle lube over his fingers, less afraid than he was, but still nervous. Harry’s fingers are longer and thicker than his own, and he wasn’t able to reach his prostate when he tried, leading to a short-lived panic about the possibility he didn’t have one before he remembered having an actual prostate exam at his doctor’s visit the previous year that was the furthest thing from pleasurable. The tip of Harry’s finger pushing inside brings Louis back to the present. His muscles tighten, but he takes a breath, relaxing his body, and Harry slides his finger all the way in. 

“Kind of scared of what that lube might do to my mouth,” Harry says, laughing against Louis’ bum cheek and kissing it. “Desensitized tongue and lips sounds like a bad idea.”

“Oh…” Louis says, unable to manage another word. One finger has him feeling so full, like another would be impossible, but as Harry starts to fuck him with it, he welcomes it, adjusting to the slight stretch. A spark jolts Louis’ body, and a second later it happens again. Harry kisses the back of his thigh, and pleasure zips up his spine. 

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, pulling his finger free, and Louis whines at the loss. 

It burns when he pushes two fingers inside, but the pain subsides, and Louis sinks into the mattress, thankful for the existence of numbing lube and also for his prostate. 

Two fingers become three and Louis’ mind drifts. He rolls onto his back at Harry’s urging, hips bucking when Harry licks his cock from root to tip, sucking him down while he stretches him open, avoiding his prostate like he knows the pleasure building inside Louis is ready to explode out of him at any moment. In his hazy bliss, he does as he’s told, lifting up while Harry shoves a pillow under him, aware enough to notice the presence of a towel, so at least one of them remembered the mess last time. 

The latex covered tip of Harry’s cock rubs against his rim, and Louis’ mind clears. Focusing on Harry’s face, the line between his eyebrows, his perfect, white teeth sinking into his lower lip, Louis’ heart swells and then cracks. Harry pushes the head of his dick past his rim, and Louis gasps, muscles fighting the intrusion against his will. He breathes, trying to make his body accept the pain and let Harry in, closing his eyes as he pulls his knees closer to his chest. 

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles, shifting forward and sliding a few more inches inside Louis’ body. He leans down, holding himself up, hands planted on the mattress on either side of Louis’ shoulders, and Louis lets go of his legs, wrapping them around Harry, and threading his fingers through Harry’s hair. 

Kissing Harry takes his mind off the pain, but he can’t help his body’s reaction, overcome with disappointment when Harry fits his hand between their bodies, taking Louis’ soft cock in his grip and stroking it while circling his hips. Gradually, Harry fucks him in short, slow thrusts, not even all the way inside yet, and Louis feels his face heat again, embarrassed that Harry knows what he needs when he doesn’t know himself. His erection returns under Harry’s ministrations, and when it does, Louis heaves a relieved sigh, and Harry fills him completely.

With his face buried in the curve of Louis’ neck, Harry rolls his hips, and Louis groans, holding tight to his back. While the pain hasn’t gone, it lives alongside a buzzing in his veins, and Louis finds he doesn’t care so much if it hurts, as long as Harry’s there. His presence eases the sting, and soon enough it fades, leaving him floating in a cloud of euphoria. 

When Harry changes the angle of his hips and hits his prostate, Louis jerks beneath him. The reverence in Harry’s gaze steals his breath, and Louis blinks, tears gathering in his eyes. He blinks again and they fall over his temples, soaking into his hair. Harry leans in, resting his forehead against Louis’ and nudging their noses together, sucking a gentle kiss to Louis’ lips. 

“Harder,” Louis says, wishing the pain would return and replace the ache in his chest. 

Harry obliges, letting his weight settle and pistoning his hips, holding Louis in place while he fucks him faster, hitting his prostate over and over. He lifts up, wrapping his hand around Louis’ dick, jerking him off while his hips stutter out of control as if his own orgasm took him by surprise. Muscles taut, buried inside Louis, Harry shakes, and Louis knocks his hand away, taking over and bringing himself off, gasping at the sensation of his body tightening around Harry’s cock. 

Shoulders slumping, Harry reaches down and pulls out, stumbling to the bathroom. A moment later, he’s back, wiping the come from Louis’ stomach, and tenderly cleaning him. 

“You want a shower?” Harry asks, and Louis opens his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Just want to sleep with you,” Louis says, still sprawled on his back with a pillow under his bum. 

Giggling, Harry tugs on the pillow, and Louis rolls off of it, hissing as he moves onto his side. Harry turns off the lights, climbing into the bed, and laying on his stomach. Louis cuddles up to him, nose pressed against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, and waiting for him to fall asleep so he can listen to his quiet snore.

In the morning, Louis limps through the drowning prevention seminar, scowling at Harry, which does nothing to make the smugness radiating from him disappear. The entire five hour drive home, Louis debates telling Harry the truth, that this has to be the last time, but in the end, he can’t bring himself to do it. He snoozes in the car, physically exhausted from the night before. 

When they finish unloading Harry’s Jeep at the beach service storage building, he tries again, but winds up pressed against the metal garage bay door instead, making out like teenagers until the door jerks to life and they leap away from it and each other. Time got away from them. Harry backs his Jeep out of the bay to make room for the jet skis and banana boat, and leaves, waving goodbye to everyone. 

That night, Harry texts him, wishing him sweet dreams, and Louis returns the sentiment. He goes to bed as soon as he deletes the text. Monday will be another long day. 

≈≈≈≈≈

“Let’s go!” Bo yells from the living room, and Louis frowns, but keeps his snarky words to himself. He doesn’t want to take away from her excitement.

“Go wait in the car— You know what?” Louis looks up from filling his travel mug and says, “You can drive the whole way there. Your mom can ride shotgun. I’ll even buy you Starbucks.”

“Really?” Bo asks, grin taking over her face. 

“Yeah, I want one of those Frappuccinos. The caramel kind,” Louis says, tightening the lid on his cup. 

“You want a Frappuccino?” Bo asks, laughing as she picks up her backpack, the last thing that has to be loaded into Bridget’s car before they get on the road. 

“Not if you’re going to make fun,” Louis says, and Bo shakes her head. “Good.”

“Mom!” Bo shouts down the hall, and Louis cringes. “What are you doing?”

“We aren’t going to be late,” Bridget says, dabbing her eyes as she walks out of their bedroom. 

“You can’t cry now,” Bo says, rolling her eyes and hugging her mom. “Listen. Dad wants a Frappuccino.”

Bridget laughs, holding her hand to her chest. She wipes her eyes again, and says, “Thanks for that.”

“It’s like a milkshake with coffee instead of ice cream,” Louis mutters, heading out to the car by himself. He climbs into the back seat and buckles himself in, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Maybe he should’ve just had his black coffee. He certainly doesn’t want to explain his sudden interest in sugary Starbucks beverages, but he’s begun associating them with road trips. He’s also begun to associate long drives with Harry, but that’s another thing entirely. 

Three and a half hours later, Bo parks next to the sidewalk near her dorm and, after they unload everything, Bridget drives off looking for a parking space while Louis and Bo start the moving in process. As soon as Bo gets herself checked in, she takes off with as much as she can carry, leaving Louis to watch her stuff and wait for Bridget. 

When they finish, it’s late in the afternoon, and Louis lays down on Bo’s newly made bed. He closes his eyes, wondering what he and Bridget will do when they get home. “What are you going to do when we leave?”

“I don’t know,” Bo says, shoving her clothes into her dresser. “Nap? There’s a floor meeting later.”

“Your roommates seem nice,” Bridget says, and Louis laughs quietly. He can tell she’s trying, but when she starts to sniffle again, she excuses herself and goes in search of the hall bathroom.

“Did you see the bulletin board with all the clubs and stuff?” Louis asks as soon as Bridget shuts the door, leaving him alone with Bo. He turns his head to watch Bo’s silent debate over where to keep her little stuffed rabbit. She looks over and Louis wiggles his fingers at her until she throws it, and he catches the pink rabbit, laying it on the pillow above his head. “There’s one called SAGA that I thought you might be interested in.”

It’s the campus sexuality and gender alliance organization, and he saw her looking at the flyers earlier, but when she didn’t pick one up, he made a mental note to mention it. She raises her eyebrows, and says, “Thanks, Dad.”

“Should I tell you that I love you no matter what?” Louis asks, picking up the bunny and tossing it in the air. 

“I know  _ you  _ do,” Bo says, crossing the room and taking the bunny from him. She sits on the edge of the bed and tucks the bunny under her pillow. 

“Your mom does, too,” Louis says. He cups her chin, lifting it until she meets his eyes. “She does. Promise.”

“Even if I cut off all my Rapunzel hair?” Bo asks, tugging on her long braid. 

Louis nods, scooting over and patting the mattress. When she lays down next to him, he says, “On our honeymoon, which I’m sure we’ve told you about a million times—”

“A weekend in Hilton Head at a friend of Papa’s condo that didn’t have electricity because there was a mixup at the power company and you were both too afraid to call and complain,” Bo says, pulling the bunny out from underneath the pillow. She tosses it in the air and asks, “Why didn’t you just go home?”

“What fun would that’ve been?” Louis asks, snatching the bunny out of the air. “Anyway. Your mom thought it’d be romantic if we had a fire, but there was no fireplace. We didn’t have any candles or anything. But we did have a gas stove.”

“You guys lit the burner for romance?” Bo asks, snorting and covering her face with her bunny.

“Your mom  _ tried _ to light the burner for romance, but when it wouldn’t catch at first, she leaned over it, and caught her hair on fire.”

“What?” Bo smacks him on the stomach and sits up. “No way.”

“Top secret,” Louis promises, crossing his heart. “She may very well kill me now that I’ve told you, but she did. The end of her ponytail was all smelly and burnt and, holy shit she was so mad. She made me cut the burned parts off, and as soon as we got home, she went and got her hair cut. Except she cut it all the way up to her chin. Her mom was  _ pissed. _ To this day, I think she might’ve set it on fire on purpose.”

“I did no such thing,” Bridget says, and Louis whips his head around. “And I cannot believe you caved after this long.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Louis says with a shrug. 

“Nana didn’t want you to cut your hair?” Bo asks, tucking her bunny away again. 

“Nana  _ forbid  _ me from cutting my hair,” Bridget says, smoothing her bob and sitting on the other side of the bed at Louis’ feet. “Are you thinking of cutting yours?”

“I want to donate it,” Bo says, and Bridget nods. 

“Seems like the thing to do,” Bridget says, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind Bo’s ear. “Would be a waste to throw it away.”

“I’m, um…” Louis sits up, finding his shoes under the bed. “Where’d you park? I’ll go get the car.”

He leaves them alone, taking his time walking across campus to find the car, still a bit sore from Saturday night. Even with their approaching anniversary, Louis hasn’t thought about their honeymoon since the last time they joked about it when a hurricane came through and the power went out. Thirty years of memories, and Bridget is a part of almost every single one. His entire life is irrevocably intertwined with hers. 

Four short bursts, his phone vibrates in his pocket for the first time that day. 

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Still limping?  
  
**Louis:** Fuck you  
  
**Harry:** I'm game  
  
**Louis:** Can't. Busy today. See you tomorrow  
  


Louis deletes their texts and locks his phone. 

≈≈≈≈≈

“Okay! We’ll see you all on Thursday for the final class!” Louis claps his hands, and the Junior Lifeguards make their way towards the door. 

All day Louis has been trying to figure out how and when to talk to Harry, but he’s to the point of ripping the Band-Aid off. With the pool deck empty, and the rec center about to close, it might as well be now. He follows Harry into the storage closet, and shuts the door.

“Harry, I— I can’t— We can’t be together anymore,” Louis says, barely managing to get the words out. 

Harry stares at him silently, then closes his eyes, pressing his lips together. “I knew. I knew! I knew when you showed up at my door with that fucking rose that you were a slimy piece of shit. I knew it.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, holding his hands up as if they could stop Harry from talking.

“Fuck your apology,” Harry says. “And fuck you. What’s your reason? Huh? Used to being the one to end it?”

“What?”

“I’m sure at first it seemed like a great idea having steady action on the side instead of whoever you could pick up when you’re out of town,” Harry says, tipping his head back and laughing. “But it’s got to be less messy to keep your gay shit between you and a stranger. That way there’s no risk of Bridget finding out. No need to pretend around your friends. And, I mean, why fuck me when you could just go home and fuck your wife, right?”

Louis lets him talk, too shocked to speak and too afraid of what Harry might say if he interrupts, only hearing half of his accusations as his words wash over him. Eventually, Harry stops, chest heaving, and Louis says, “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Fuck you!” Harry roars, and the closet door opens.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Niall snaps, eyes darting back and forth between them. 

“Absolutely nothing,” Harry says, slipping past Niall and hurrying away. 

“Louis?” Niall looks at him, clearly expecting an explanation.

Louis says the only thing he can think of. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry if someone overheard us. I said something I shouldn’t’ve, and he has every right to be pissed. So don’t— Don’t let this affect his job or anything. Please.”

“None of the members heard anything,” Niall says, stepping out of the way to let Louis close the storage room. “I just didn’t see you guys on the pool deck, so I thought you’d left, and I was doing my walk-through.”

Relieved, Louis nods, and falls into step beside Niall when he starts for the door. 

“What were you guys fighting about?”

“Nothing,” Louis says instinctively, cringing as soon as he realizes how stupid it sounds to deny it. 

“Right,” Niall says slowly.

“Listen, man, I—” Louis stops, opening the door for Niall, and says, “It’s not your business, okay?” 

After a moment, Niall nods and says, “Then don’t make it my business again.”

“Understood,” Louis says, and as he heads for the exit, he squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

One more class on Thursday, and he and Harry won’t have a reason to be around each other until January when the winter classes start. Maybe by then things will have cooled down, and they can at least be civil. If not, he can see about getting Liam to replace him. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	9. Chapter 9

≈≈≈≈≈

“You want to go out or something for our anniversary?” Louis asks, nudging Bridget’s leg with his toe. 

“It’s on a Tuesday,” she says, not taking her eyes off the television. 

“Yeah, but we could do something this weekend,” Louis suggests, setting his plate down on the coffee table and pulling his feet up onto the couch. 

“Maybe,” Bridget says, glancing over. “Friday or Saturday?”

“Either,” Louis says with a shrug. “Whatever works for you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Missing Bo?” Louis asks, though he knows she is. That’s Bo’s sweater she’s wearing. 

Bridget sighs and leans her head back. “What are we going to do now that it’s just us?”

“I can periodically take stuff from you and hide it. Like the lipstick Bo likes to borrow and not return. Or that black skirt,” Louis offers, hoping to make her smile. 

“That’s not what I mean, Louis,” she says, turning to look at him. 

“You want a cuddle?” Louis asks, stretching out on the couch beside her, feet in her lap. He pats his chest and holds his hands out, wiggling his fingers. “Come on. Lay here.”

“I’m too heavy to lay on top of you,” Bridget says dismissively.

“You are not,” Louis says, patting his chest again. 

With a dramatic eye roll, she agrees, gingerly arranging herself between his legs, laying her ear to his chest, just above his heart. He smooths her hair off her face and bends his neck, kissing the crown of her head.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so… busy lately,” Louis says, rubbing her back.

“That’s summer. Every summer,” she says. “Even when we were in school, you were always gone in the summer. To the beach, surfing, trips to the Outer Banks with your friends… The sun comes out and there you go. If there’s water, you’re in it.”

“I don’t mean to— to neglect you,” Louis says, sniffing her hair, surprised by the floral scent until he realizes he was expecting cloves. He closes his eyes, missing Harry, but trying not to, knowing he shouldn’t. 

“You don’t neglect me,” Bridget says, laughing into his shirt and shaking her head. “I knew you were like that when I married you.”

“I’m sorry anyway. And I don’t just mean summer. I mean… everything, I guess.”

“Life gets in the way,” Bridget says. 

“I suppose it does.”

“What are we doing here, Louis?” Bridget asks, a direct echo of Harry’s questions Saturday night that makes Louis’ heart thump in his chest. 

“Cuddling?” 

“Why though?” she asks, lifting her head to look at him. “We’ve never really been a cuddly couple. Neither of us are big on PDA.”

“What’s PDA?” Louis asks, trying to assign words to the letters.

“Public displays of affection,” Bridget says, laying her head back down on his chest. “PDA.”

“Oh,” Louis says, frowning up at the ceiling, thinking of how tactile he’s always been with his friends, how he could never get enough of Harry’s touch, how they held hands on top of the table in the bistro Saturday night, how happy that made him. Shaking his head to clear it, Louis says, “You said you wanted to make the next twenty-five years better than the first.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Bridget hums, pushing herself up and off of him to sit at the end of the couch again. “I just remembered, I promised Andrea I’d spend Friday evening with her. I might actually stay the night. She’s just… She’s not used to being alone.”

“Okay, babe,” Louis says, sitting up and gathering their plates. He stands and says, “If there’s anything I can do, you know, just let me know.”

“Well, if you want to do something for our anniversary, make it Saturday,” Bridget says, propping her feet up on the coffee table and turning back to the television.

≈≈≈≈≈

On Thursday, when Louis arrives at the rec center for Junior Lifeguards, he pops his head into Niall’s office hoping to apologize for Tuesday, but Niall isn't there. Harry’s office door is closed and the light is off, so he heads for the employee entrance to the pool deck, which is where he finds Niall carrying Derek the Dummy towards the bleachers. 

“Ni, hey,” Louis says, looking around for Harry. “I wanted to apologize for—”

“Save it, man,” Niall says, shoving Derek into his arms. “Harry called this morning. Said he’s sick. Couldn’t stop throwing up.”

“Really?” Louis asks, worried about Harry, sick and alone in his apartment with no one to look after him. 

“Yeah, but since he assured me he’ll be back tomorrow,” Niall says, narrowing his eyes. “Pretty sure it’s a bullshit excuse to avoid you. But I guess that’s none of my business.”

Louis stills, heart sinking. Never did he think that his friendship with Niall—they’ve known each other since preschool, for fuck’s sake—would suffer collateral damage from his affair with Harry. 

“I’m sorry, Ni, I…” Louis sighs, combing his fingers through his hair and tugging on the ends. “I’m sorry.”

Niall stands in for Harry, but the kids are all disappointed that he isn’t there for their last class, so at the end of the night, Niall lets them into one of the classrooms with wall to wall white boards. The kids fill the boards with marker messages and well-wishes for Harry, and Louis is so ashamed that he has to excuse himself, eyes welling up with tears. He winds up leaving, unable to gain control, crying harder when he climbs into his truck and pulls onto the road, driving down to the old airport lot to sit and collect himself. 

It isn’t Harry that he’s crying for, at least, not completely. Pathetically, he grieves the loss of the life he used to have, his oldest and dearest friendship, the marriage that he’s dedicated two-thirds of his years to, and everything that’s been irreparably changed because of the decisions he’s made over and over again, intentionally putting them all at risk. 

While he can’t think of anything to do to fix his relationship with Niall, when he finally heads for home, it’s with a renewed promise to himself to be a better husband and a better partner to Bridget for the rest of his life. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Saturday morning, Louis greets the dawn alone, getting to the beach long before sunrise. He makes his way to the water in the dark, and paddles out in the twilight to sit and think. Prior to this summer, he never would’ve believed himself capable of living a secret life, or of telling such a big lie. Of course, prior to this summer, he never considered his sexuality. It was a given. He was straight. Clearly, that’s not the case, and he wonders if it all changed because of Harry or if it was just a perfect storm, a million tiny things coming together and transforming him into someone new. 

It’s a busy day on the parasail boat. With summer coming to an end, people flock to the beach, desperate for a few more days of sun and warmth. It’s funny. The weather doesn’t suddenly turn cold in September. In fact, they usually have summer temperatures well into fall. But Louis is thankful for the bump in business, driving the boat up and down the coast all day long. When he gets home that evening, it’s to an empty house, and a bouquet of fruit on the kitchen counter. 

There’s a printed card with it, and he reads it while he eats a slice of pineapple.

_ Louis, _

_ Dress nicely, we have a dinner reservation at the restaurant at Palmetto Breeze Resort at 8PM. I’ll meet you there. Pack an overnight bag.  _

_ Love, _

_ Bridget _

He smiles, tilting his head and chewing on a bite of pineapple. Before he jumps in the shower, he calls Rooftop Grill and cancels the reservations he made. She one-upped him, with the fruit arrangement and hotel room. It’s been months since he’s worn a pair of long pants, but he decides to step it up a notch, and pulls out his blazer to wear over his polo. With a couple of hours to spare, he takes his time in the shower, and trims his beard, even using Bridget’s blow dryer and hairspray to style his hair, swooping it up and back off his face the way he did for their wedding. 

Not knowing what room they’re in, or anything really, Louis parks in a public lot and walks to the Palmetto Breeze, blazer over his shoulder so he doesn’t get too sweaty. His feet feel weird in shoes he hasn’t worn in so long, but he couldn’t make himself put on his Vans when the rest of him is dressed up. Before he steps inside, he slips his blazer on, pushing the sleeves up and checking his hair in the reflection of the glass door. 

“Good evening, sir,” the host says when Louis walks in. “Do you have a reservation?”

“Um… Yes. I think so,” Louis says, stepping closer. “I’m supposed to meet my wife, she might already be here. Table should be under Tomlinson.”

“Yes, sir. Right this way. Your wife is waiting,” he says, nodding and leading Louis through the restaurant to a table by the window, overlooking the beach. 

“Hey,” Louis says, smiling and taking his seat across from Bridget. “Been here long?”

Bridget shakes her head. “Just a few minutes. This is quite the place, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, opening the menu and trying not to balk at the prices. “I thought I’d be overdressed, but I fit right in. You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she grins, tugging the shoulders of her top. “It’s a bit skimpier than I’d normally wear.”

“Really?” Louis asks, leaning to the side, curious if it’s a dress or skirt, and if she’s comfortable. 

“Yes,” she says, laughing as the server approaches the table with a bottle of champagne and an ice bucket. “No, thank you.”

“No, um, we’ll look at the wine list,” Louis says. When the server carries the champagne away, Louis whispers, “Sorry. Maybe that’s some sort of anniversary thing they do?”

“Must be,” Bridget says, pointing to a Pinot Noir on the list. “I think I just want a glass.”

“Me too,” Louis says, relieved that she doesn’t want to split a bottle. It’s been a long day and even one glass of wine will make him tired. “Where were you earlier?”

“At the hotel spa,” Bridget says slowly, nodding like he should already know the answer. “I’ve been here all day. Mani, pedi, massage, facial, the works.”

“Oh,” Louis says, curious if she had a coupon or something.

It’s surprisingly awkward, sitting in a fancy restaurant with his wife, but it’s not something they’ve done often. Their dates, when they used to have them regularly, were usually to the movies. Early on in their relationship, Louis would take Bridget to the beach, offering to teach her to surf or sail, but she was always content to sit on her towel in the sand and watch from the shore. 

“Hey, so… Happy anniversary,” Louis says, reaching across the table and tapping his fingers on it, turning his palm up, raising his eyebrows until she lays her hand in his. “Thanks for putting up with me for so long.”

“Thirty years,” she says, squeezing his hand, then letting it go and picking up her glass. 

“It’s funny,” Louis says, withdrawing his hand and leaning back in his chair. “I remember that day so clearly. First day of school, Senior year, and there you were. The new girl.”

“You passed me a note,” Bridget says, sipping her wine.  _ “Hi, Bridget! Welcome to Ocean Grove. Sit with me at lunch? Louis William Tomlinson. _ Middle name and everything.”

“You know, Niall dared me to do that,” Louis says, biting his lip, thinking back to that day. Seventeen years old and willing to do anything to impress his best friend. 

“You never told me that,” Bridget says.

Louis shrugs. “Needed the push. But it got us here, didn’t it?”

“You were so shy,” she says. “I should've known.”

They spend the rest of the meal reminiscing, though the conversation often turns to Bo’s childhood, both of them missing her. Hopefully that’ll fade as the semester wears on, but it’s still so fresh. They’ve spent the week finding things around the house and boxing them up for Bo, just in case she wants to take them back to school next time she’s down for a visit. 

≈≈≈≈≈

“This place is nice,” Louis says when they step out of the elevator onto the twelfth floor. “Like, really nice.”

“It is,” Bridget says, looking down when he takes her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Wait until you see the room.”

Sliding the keycard into the lock, Bridget opens the door, and Louis blinks away the memory of Harry in the hotel the previous weekend. They step inside, and she flips on the light, gasping and stopping short in front of him. 

“What’s up?” Louis asks, laying his hands on her shoulders and trying to get a peek at the room. 

“They’re really pushing this champagne on us,” Bridget says, lifting the bottle out of the ice. “You’re not paying for this, are you?”

Louis shakes his head. “Did you book some sort of anniversary package?”

“No,” Bridget says, setting the bottle back in the ice bucket. “Did you?”

“No…” Louis steps further into the room, looking around at the vase of roses on the table, the chocolate covered strawberries, the champagne, and for just a moment, he thinks Harry had something to do with it all. As if this is his idea of revenge. “Did you leave that fruit bouquet for me? At the house?”

Shaking her head, Bridget says, “You didn’t send me here for a spa day. Or buy me this dress.”

“No,” Louis says, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Who—”

“Bo,” Bridget says, sitting beside him and kicking her shoes off. “She asked me what we were doing for our anniversary and I told her we’d probably stay in, or maybe go to Whaley’s.”

“Oh,” Louis says, laying back on the bed, feet still on the floor, wondering why he’s not disappointed or surprised, really. It didn’t seem like something Bridget would do, orchestrating this evening. 

“I thought this was a grand gesture on your part,” Bridget says, voice hollow. She laughs, one short, quiet huff, and adds, “To the next twenty-five years.”

“I had reservations at Rooftop Grill,” Louis says, though that’s nothing compared to what Bo put together. “Do you think Bo paid for the champagne already? Should we let her know we know?”

“You go ahead and text her,” Bridget says, reaching back and unzipping her dress. “I’m going to change. I want to go home. I’d rather sleep in my own bed, to be honest.”

“You don’t want to stay? The view’s so great,” Louis says, getting up and going to the balcony. He slides the door open, inhaling the salt air and listening to the ocean. 

“No, but you stay, if you want,” she says, stepping out of her dress. 

“I’m not going to stay here by myself,” Louis says, shutting the balcony door, and pulling his phone from his pocket. “We’ll go home.”

Bo-Bo  
  
**Louis:** Your mom doesn’t drink champagne  
  
**Bo:** What??? Why not?  
  
**Louis:** Says the bubbles give her a headache  
  
**Bo:** Booooooo  
  
**Louis:** So it was you with the fruit bouquet and everything? How much did this cost you?  
  
**Bo:** I know people who know people. I only paid for your dinner   
  
**Louis:** All the people you know are people I know   
  
**Bo:** Are you mad?  
  
**Louis:** No way. Just surprised. Wanted to make sure you didn’t pay for the champagne since we won’t drink it   
  
**Bo:** Nope. Free champagne  
  


“Are you ready?” Bridget asks, her small rolling suitcase on the floor beside her. She looks much more like herself in capri pants and t-shirt. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, quickly sending one more text to Bo.

Bo-Bo  
  
**Louis:** Do I want to know who’s giving you free champagne?  
  
**Bo:** Mikey’s sister. Don’t worry about it! Happy anniversary!  
  


“Let’s go,” Louis says, opening the door and letting Bridget roll her suitcase into the hall. 

They split up in the lobby, Bridget heading for the parking garage, and Louis for the street. He pulls into their driveway just as she gets out of her car, reaching for her keys when she fumbles to unlock the door in the dark. 

“Thanks,” she says, swiping her knuckle under her eye.

“Are you crying?” Louis asks, pushing the door open. The light that spills out from inside the house illuminates her face, and he doesn’t need her to answer. “Babe…”

“No,” Bridget says, rolling her suitcase into the house. 

Louis gives her a few minutes, locking up and getting rid of the rest of the fruit bouquet from the fridge. Something tells him she won’t want the reminder. When he finally walks into the bedroom, Bridget’s in the bathroom, already in her pajamas, taking off her makeup. 

“You okay?” Louis asks, leaning against the wall just outside the bathroom door. 

“Did you know that the last time we had sex was on our twentieth anniversary?” Bridget asks, throwing him for a loop. 

“I…” Thinking back, it doesn’t seem like that long ago, but five years passed in a flash. “I guess I hadn't really thought about it.”

“Neither had I,” Bridget says, squeezing toothpaste onto her toothbrush, and then his. She passes it to him, and they stand side by side in front of the sink. 

When they’re finished, she leads him out of the bathroom, pulling down the blanket. Louis climbs into bed, heart heavy at the prospect, and he distracts himself by adjusting his pillows while he asks, “Did you, um… Did you want to?”

Bridget looks at him for a moment, then rolls onto her side to face him. He flinches at the first touch of her hand to the bare skin of his stomach, but she doesn’t seem to notice, trailing her fingertips over his chest and up to his neck. Louis reaches for her, and lightly grips the side of her waist, scooting closer as she brings their lips together. She smells of toothpaste and the cream she uses to remove her makeup. 

Thinking it’ll help them both get into the mood, Louis slides his hand under Bridget’s pajama top, cupping the curve of her breast, rubbing his thumb over her nipple. She parts her lips, and he follows suit, pressing closer, but she pulls away, and he remembers her complaining about his beard irritating her face. He kisses down her neck instead, gently urging her onto her back. 

Her pajama top is nothing more than a camisole, so he traces her collarbones with his lips, then kisses her breast through the thin cotton, nuzzling her nipple. Between his legs, his cock hangs soft, hidden by his boxers, and he reaches down to cup it, trying to will himself to get hard. If he can’t, he can get her off with his mouth and his hands. It’s probably better that way. She would balk if he suggested a condom, and he doesn’t think he can bring himself to fuck her without.

“Louis,” she says with a sigh. “I… I’m tired. I’m sorry.”

Relief floods his body, as he crawls back up to rest his head on his pillow. “It’s alright, babe. I’m tired, too. We don’t have to.”

Bridget nods, and when she purses his lips for a kiss, he leans in, meeting her closed mouth with his own. 

“Happy anniversary, Louis,” she says, rolling onto her side, facing away. 

≈≈≈≈≈

For hours, Louis lays there in the dark, the burden of guilt growing heavier with each passing second. If they were ever truly happy together, he doesn’t know. At some point they had to be, but it’s been so long that he can’t remember, and the transition from happy to this limbo of not unhappy enough to make a change must’ve happened so slowly that he didn’t notice. 

Staring at the ceiling, Louis blinks away fresh tears. After so many years, to discover that he can’t make her happy, to know that no matter what he does it won’t be enough… God, he still doesn’t know himself, and what he needs, or who he is. 

If he can't give her what she needs, he has to let her go. 

Unable to sleep, Louis gets out of bed, pulls on sweatpants and a t-shirt, leaving a note on the kitchen counter in case Bridget wakes up. 

_ Couldn’t sleep. Went for a drive. _

At midnight, his options are slim. He can’t bother his friends, most of them are sleeping, and though Niall might be up at this hour, that’s a conversation he’s not ready to have. For a while, Louis drives around aimlessly, riding the rolling waves of his emotions, letting his mind lead him where it will. That is, all over the place. 

Tired, but unable to sleep, Louis’ mind whirls while he drives. His head hurts, and he wonders if the headaches he’s been having lately are stress related or if he needs glasses. It’s funny almost, figuring out that he’s gay months into sleeping with Harry. Cheating on his wife with Harry. God, what a mess, and it’s all his doing. He’ll need to find a lawyer, and they’ll have to divide their assets, though Bridget should keep the house. Which means he'll have to find a place to live. Two bedrooms, if he can afford it, so Bo can have her own room. 

The stoplight turns from red to green, and he drives down to the beach, sitting in his truck and watching the cresting waves in the moonlight. Maybe they could stay together. Keep going. Keep lying. 

Not for another twenty-five years. 

Louis leaves the beach, heading home. He’ll sleep in the guest room so he doesn’t wake Bridget up. 

Passing Whaley’s, he slows, then pulls into the parking lot, taking the spot beside Harry’s Jeep, wondering if he’s there on a date with Niall’s friend, wishing Harry didn’t assume the worst of him. 

If he can’t make Bridget happy, he can try to tell Harry the truth. 

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Can you come outside I need to talk to you  
  
**Harry:** Fuck off  
  
**Louis:** Please. I’m parked next to you  
  


Harry doesn’t respond, but Louis doesn’t leave, leaning his seat back and tapping his fingers on his phone. Four short bursts.

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Better make it fast  
  


Louis gets out of his truck, pacing while he waits, watching the entrance to the bar, hoping Harry’s alone. A raindrop hits his cheek and Louis wipes it away, looking at the sky, dark clouds visible where they block out the stars. Thunder cracks and Louis jumps, but stills at the sight of Harry coming towards him. 

Beautiful, even when he’s angry, which he clearly is. Livid, if his scowl and clenched jaw are any indication. Louis stays where he is, back against the side of his truck, still unsure what he’s even doing there. 

“What?” Harry says, stopping a few feet in front of him and crossing his arms.

“I…” Louis exhales, thinking, trying to find the words. “I wanted to explain—”

“No need,” Harry says, turning on his heel and starting back towards the bar.

“No, Harry, listen—”

Harry spins back around, stalking towards him. “You listen, Louis. I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m not some— some toy, okay? Leave me alone.”

“I know you’re not!” Louis yells, pushing away from his truck. “I never meant to hurt you. Or anybody!”

“You’ve said that, but you know what? How else did you expect this to go? How can you even say that when you’re married?” Harry asks, stepping closer, hands in his hair like he needs something to hold onto. “Why are you with her if you’re going to fuck around all the time?”

“I— I don’t fuck around  _ all the time. _ I didn’t mean to— to let you think that. But I wanted to tell you the truth.”

“The truth,” Harry repeats, scoffing and rolling his eyes.

“The truth! Three months ago, I didn’t know there was anything wrong with my marriage! With me! Is there? Is there something wrong with me? Bridget told me tonight that the last time we had sex was on our twentieth wedding anniversary. Five years ago! And I didn’t realize! I didn’t know I was—” Lightning flashes in the sky and the rain comes down harder. Louis throws his hands in the air and shouts, “I’m gay? Am I gay? Bi? Maybe? I don’t know! This is all brand fucking new to me, Harry!”

Eyes wide, Harry’s arms go limp and he drops them to his sides. “What?”

“I met you and my life turned upside down,” Louis says, pushing his wet hair off his face, looking up at the rain. “And I thought, you know, it was a one time thing. A drunken mistake. And I felt like shit about it. Fucking woke up that morning in Hatteras and ran because, my fucking God! I cheated on my wife!”

“You— We—” Harry presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “You never— Before me?”

Louis shakes his head, closing his eyes and dropping his chin to his chest. “I just wanted to tell you the truth. I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t been, lately, not well anyway. And I saw your Jeep and thought… I thought you deserved some honesty from me.”

“Oh my God,” Harry says, rubbing his eyes. Dropping one hand to his hip, he combs his fingers through his hair, tipping his head back and letting the rain fall on his face. “I thought I was crazy. Like you were just a great actor. Or a pathological liar. Or both. But then you’d… You’d do something or say something that would make me think you might feel it too and I…”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says again. Maybe he’ll spend the rest of his life apologizing. He shivers, soaked from the rain. Closing his eyes, he repeats his earlier words, “I really didn’t mean to hurt you, Harry. You deserve to be happy. You—”

Harry crashes into him, cutting him off and swallowing his apology. With his body, he traps Louis against the wet metal of his truck, cradling his jaw gently, firm hand on the back of his neck guiding him into the kiss. For a moment, Louis gets lost in it. Harry’s mouth against his, the taste of him, his smell mixed with the rain, his wet hair between Louis’ fingers, the warmth of his chest and stomach behind his shirt where it’s soaked and clinging to him like a second skin. 

Breaking their kiss, twisting out of Harry’s grip, Louis misses Harry’s touch even as he’s stepping away. “I— I can’t. I just wanted you to know the truth. I’m sorry.”

Wrenching the door open, Louis slides behind the wheel of his truck, avoiding Harry’s stare, though he can feel it through the windshield as he backs out of the parking space. At the last second, he looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes, but he can’t watch him. Lips pressed tight together to stifle a sob, Louis drives away, leaving Harry alone, standing in the rain.

≈≈≈≈≈


	10. Chapter 10

≈≈≈≈≈

Sunday morning comes early, and when Louis gets up he finds his note still on the counter from the night before. He crumbles it up and tosses it into the trash. A night spent tossing and turning in the guest bedroom, and he’s no closer to resolution. There’s no magic pill that will fix things with Bridget. He’ll talk to her later, once she’s had time to wake up, and he’s had time to figure out what to say, where to start, and how much to tell. When he gets back from the beach. Hopefully the ocean will help him find clarity.

It’s still raining, but the lightning and thunder stopped a while ago. The beach is deserted when he arrives, and it’s drizzling when he paddles out to sit on his board and watch the clouds hide the sun. Exhausted, he catches one wave and doesn’t try for another, unable to motivate himself, unwilling to put in the effort. 

With his back to the beach, he jerks his head around, giving himself a crick in his neck when Bo says, “Hey, Dad.”

Louis grins, always happy to see her. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um, Mikey drove up and got me Friday after class,” Bo says, sitting back on her board so the nose pops up a little. “So I could set up your anniversary stuff. She’s waiting in the parking lot.”

“Oh… That makes much more sense. I was wondering how the fruit bouquet got into the house,” Louis says. He winks at her and jokes, “Didn’t think it had a key.”

Bo shakes her head, frowning and looking too much like him. “We went to Whaley’s for dinner last night. Mikey wanted to watch some game, and we were in that booth by the window and I… I saw Harry. And you. In the parking lot.”

Louis’ heart jumps into his throat and his stomach lurches. “Bo, I—”

“Do you and Mom, like…I know some people have, like, open relationships,” Bo says. 

It sounds like a question, but Louis can’t answer, frozen in place, his world falling in all around him. 

Voice quaking, she asks, “Are you gay?”

Lie after lie after lie, and Louis finds he can’t tell another one. He nods, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and Bo sucks in a sharp breath loud enough to hear over the ocean. 

“Does Mom know?” Bo asks, and Louis closes his eyes. “She doesn’t know?”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m going to tell her. I was planning to tell her today. I… I didn’t know, Bo, please… Please don’t say anything to your mom.”

“What do you mean you didn’t know?” Bo yells, face turning pink as the sun comes over the horizon, breaking through the clouds. “How do you not know?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says, balling his hands into fists. “I didn’t think— Your mom and I have been together for thirty years, Bo. I didn’t know any different.”

Tears fill her eyes and she wipes them away, rinsing her hand in the water. “But now you do?” 

“I… I do,” Louis says, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. I never, never wanted to hurt your mom. Or you.”

“This is fucked up,” Bo says, shaking her head and staring at him, as if daring him to tell her to watch her language. 

“It is that,” Louis says, still waiting for more, for her to scream at him, something. 

“I just don’t get it,” she says, paddling around until she’s no longer facing him. “Like, sure, some people are closeted. Mikey is ’cause her dad sucks. But you’re an adult. Nobody cares if you’re gay or bi or pan or whatever, Dad. It’s like, I mean, some people do, but some people are assholes. But you— Zayn and Liam are gay! They’re, like, your best friends!”

“That’s not the point,” Louis says, struggling to explain when he doesn’t really understand it himself. 

“Sure, yeah, the point is you made out with a dude— Harry! You cheated on Mom!” Bo whips her head around, shouting, “Last night you were supposed to be celebrating your anniversary with mom and instead you cheated on her! With Harry! And you did it in the parking lot where anyone could see!”

“Bo, you can’t— Please, promise me you won’t tell her. I’m going to tell her today. As soon as I see her.”

Narrowing her eyes, she paddles in front of the wave, and Louis paddles to catch up with her. She says, “Swear it?”

“I swear, Bo,” Louis says, letting her take the wave. She pops up, and rides in, picking up her board and wading through the shallows, leaving him alone in the water. 

≈≈≈≈≈

The rain picks up, the lightning returns, and with the forecast calling for thunderstorms all day, Louis sends everyone home, closing the beach service, and hanging out the signs and flags to let people know. 

No lifeguard on duty. Swim at your own risk. 

He starts for home because Bridget is probably there, but at the last minute, he turns onto the road leading to the rec center. Harry’s Jeep is in the parking lot, but Niall’s car isn’t, so Louis keeps going, pulling onto the highway heading the other direction. 

It’s pouring when he parks at Niall’s house, and he makes a break for it, leaving his flip flops in the truck and running barefoot across the grass, feet squelching in the mud. He rinses his feet in the downspout, hiding under the overhang and ringing the doorbell.

“What the hell do you want?” Niall asks as soon as he swings the door open. “Jesus Christ. You’re drenched. Get in here.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, stepping inside but staying on the little doormat so he doesn’t drip all over the floor. “Sorry.” 

“I’ll grab a towel,” Niall says, disappearing down the hall. A moment later, he comes back, and throws the towel at Louis, hitting him in the head. “There. Now, what are you doing here?”

“Came to talk to you,” Louis says, doing his best to dry off though his clothes are soaked. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

“Demanding little shit,” Niall says, wandering off down the hall again. “Come back here. Don't need you naked in my living room.”

Carefully, so he doesn’t slip on the wood floor, Louis follows him, peeking into Niall’s bedroom, catching the bundle of clothes before they can smack him in the head. “Thanks again. Sorry. Again.”

Niall leaves him to change, and when he’s dry and dressed, Niall throws his wet and sandy beach clothes in the wash. “Guess you’re here until those are clean and dry. So what’s up?”

“Fuck. Okay,” Louis says, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Does this have anything to do with you and Harry the other day?”

“Yes,” Louis says reluctantly, drawing out the word. “Sort of.”

Craning his neck around, Niall says, “Washer says about forty minutes. Then however long the dryer takes. So…”

“I think… I think I have to… I have to get a divorce.”

“What the fuck does that have to do with Harry?” Niall asks, dumbfounded. 

Before he can make the connection himself, Louis says, “I’m gay.”

“With Harry?”

“I mean… Not… I’m not  _ with  _ Harry. I’m gay separate from Harry. On my own,” Louis says. “But it’s connected.”

Niall leans back, blinking at him, and not saying a word. 

“I didn’t know I was gay,” Louis says, explaining while he has the chance. “I wasn’t… I just wasn’t aware of this part of me.”

“Does Bridget know?” Niall asks, rolling his lips between his teeth. 

“Not yet,” Louis says. “Wanted to talk to you first. I might need a place to stay for a while.”

“Oh… Oh, shit. Yeah. Fuck me, man. This is happening, then?” Niall asks, and when Louis nods, he says, “You can stay here. Long as you want.”

Relieved, Louis sinks into the couch cushion, closing his eyes. “Thanks.”

“So… You and Harry?” Niall asks, but Louis shakes his head. 

“No. We’re not— We were, but this isn’t about Harry. I don’t want—” Louis clears his throat, rubbing his temples. “I don’t want people to gossip about us, you know? Bridget, especially. But Harry too. And me, I suppose, though I probably deserve it.”

“Nah, man,” Niall says. “But you have to give Harry a heads up. Let him know, just in case.”

“Bridget’s not going to—” Louis stops, sitting up. “That’s not what you mean.”

“Nope,” Niall says, pursing his lips. “Bridget’ll tell Andrea. Andrea’ll tell Phil, even though they’re in the middle of a divorce. Who knows who he’ll run his mouth to. Just seems fair to make sure Harry finds out from you.”

“Shit,” Louis says, leaning forward and burying his head in his hands. “If he’ll even talk to me.”

“You can text him, man,” Niall says. “And you don’t have to do it this second. Just, you know, soonish.”

“Okay, yeah,” Louis says, heaving a tired sigh. “Haven’t slept right in weeks. Feel like shit.”

“You talk to a lawyer yet?”

“Fuck, no, man,” Louis says, snorting a quiet laugh. “I just decided last night. And shit… Bo knows.”

“What the fuck, man?”

“She saw— Last night, I stopped to talk to Harry at Whaley’s. In the parking lot. And he— We kissed. She saw us. Came to the beach this morning. God, it’s a mess. The whole thing is just… I fucked up so bad.”

“Yeah, you did,” Niall says, and a laugh bubbles out of Louis. “Man, I’m not going to lie to you. This is fucked. But you’re my best friend. More than that. I love you even when you fuck up. But, like, don’t ask me to help you hide a body anytime within the next ten, fifteen years.”

“Okay, but I owe you like three dead bodies,” Louis says.

“You sure do.” 

≈≈≈≈≈

On his way home, Louis goes back and forth over who to talk to first, Harry or Bridget. In the end, he decides he owes Bridget the truth. 

When he walks inside, Louis pockets his keys, not wanting them to get tangled with Bridget’s in the little blue bowl in case he has to leave in a hurry. He makes his way through the quiet house, wondering if she’s home or gone somewhere with Andrea in her car. 

“Bridget?” Louis calls out, opening their bedroom door. 

Her echoing voice responds, coming from behind the bathroom door, “In the tub!”

Louis knocks on the door, but doesn’t open it, leaning close to speak through the wood, “Need to talk to you when you’re done.”

“Be out in a few!”

Relief and dread combine to make his hands shake and his stomach hurt. Louis hurries to fill his duffle bag and an old, cracked plastic laundry basket with his clothes and shoes, not bothering to wipe away the tears streaming down his face. He feels like he’s running away from home, shoving his belongings in carelessly, yanking open his bedside table and tossing phone chargers and an iPad he never even uses into a backpack. 

Turning in circles, he looks around the bedroom, and snatches the picture of his mom proudly cradling a newborn Bo off the dresser, clutching it in his hand. He hauls it all out to his truck, heart racing as he files through the list of his belongings in his head. 

None of it matters. His toothbrush, comb, deodorant, shampoo, can be replaced. The chipped ceramic mug Bo painted him for Father’s Day with her tiny smudged handprint and “I love you bad” written in five year old Bo’s messy print is the only other thing he takes to his truck before Bridget opens the bathroom door to find him pacing in front of their bed. Her bed. 

“Needed a bubble—” Bridget stops, tilting her head and searching his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I… Jesus,” Louis says, raking his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp hard enough to hurt. “I think I’m gay.”

“No, you’re not,” Bridget says, rejecting the idea with a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand. 

Knocked off-balance by her dismissal, Louis stops pacing and drops onto the edge of the bed. “I am though.”

Bridget huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “Where is this coming from? You’re not gay, Louis. Is this because we haven’t had sex?”

“No… I’m gay. I just figured it out recently and I…” Cradling his head in his hands, Louis takes a deep breath. If he can avoid the bulk of it, skirt around the truth to keep from hurting her more, it’ll be for the best. “We have to get a divorce.”

“A divorce?  _ A divorce?” _ Bridget screams at him, and he flinches, but manages to nod. “How are you going to explain this to our daughter, Louis? You’re suddenly gay?”

Cringing, Louis forces himself up off the bed, unable to look at her. Hands on his hips, he peers through the blinds on the bedroom window, and says, “Bo already knows. She—”

“She knows? How does she know?”

“Fuck!” Louis shouts, hands balled into fists, wishing he could hit himself, hurt himself instead of her. “I’m sorry, just… Please, know that. Please try to understand that I… I never wanted this to happen. I thought we were good, you know? I thought this was it. Us. I didn’t…”

“How does Bo already know, Louis?” 

Shaking his head, Louis says, “I stopped it. I’m sorry. I—”

“Answer me!”

“I couldn’t sleep last night. Went for a drive. Stopped at Whaley’s to talk to— to Harry,” Louis says, voice cracking. “In the parking lot. Bo saw us kiss.”

“Bo’s here?” Bridget asks, jerking around as if she’ll find their daughter standing behind her. “You cheated on me? Where’s Bo?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says, shaking his head, mind going in a million directions. “She was here. Mikey drove up to North Carolina and got her so she—”

“Oh my God,” Bridget says, tightening the tie of her robe around her waist and walking towards her closet. “You need to leave.”

“Bridget, I—”

“You need to leave!” Bridget spins around, pointing at the bedroom door, and shrieking, “Get out!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Louis says, holding his hands up, palms facing out, as if he could pacify her with a gesture. “I’ll go.”

“Wait!” Bridget snaps, and Louis turns around in the doorway, ready to apologize again. He ducks, bringing his hands up in defense too late, unable to deflect them as her rings hit him one after the other, stinging his cheek and a split second later, his ear. 

“Jesus, Bridg—” She picks up the lamp from her nightstand and Louis backs out of the doorway, turning and rushing down the hall, wincing when the stained glass lamp crashes on the floor behind him. 

Before it can get any worse, Louis pulls out of the driveway, heading back to Niall’s house. When he parks, he takes a moment to catch his breath, eyes filling with tears at the same time a laugh takes him by surprise. It’s absurd and awful and all he can think is he’s glad he got his clothes out of the house before he told her. She has every right to despise him and she doesn’t even know the whole truth. 

Fumbling with his phone, hands trembling, Louis types out a text.

Bo-Bo  
  
**Louis:** If I call will you answer?  
  


Before he can lock his phone, she responds.

Bo-Bo  
  
**Bo:** Did you talk to mom   
  
**Louis:** Yes. Can I call?  
  
**Bo:** No. Are you and mom getting divorced  
  
**Louis:** I don’t want to talk about this over text  
  
**Bo:** That’s a yes then  
  
**Bo:** Is mom ok  
  
**Louis:** No. She’s angry but I can’t blame her  
  
**Bo:** K I’m going to call her  
  
**Louis:** Love you. Call me when you can  
  


He waits for her to text back, but she doesn’t. His phone fades to black and locks. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Always the supportive friend, Niall gives him half an hour to unload his things into the guest room-slash-office-slash-storage area before he asks how it went with Bridget. As soon as Louis finishes telling him, ending with his text conversation with Bo, Niall insists that Zayn and Liam come over so they aren’t left in the dark. 

While he’d much rather hide under the blanket on Niall’s couch, Louis agrees. He’ll have to tell them anyway, and it’s better if he does it now instead of waiting until they’re at work tomorrow. Still, he feels more like his life isn’t his own by the minute, as if by making one decision, the rest are going to be made for him, like dominoes. 

“You have to get a lawyer,” Liam says while Zayn and Niall nod along. “You can’t  _ not _ get a lawyer.”

“Lots of people use mediators,” Louis says, picking at his fries. “It’s more and more common for—”

“No offense, man, but those people aren’t you,” Zayn says. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He means you admitted to cheating,” Niall says, not pulling any punches. “You can’t take it back.”

“I’m not taking it back. I—”

“Dude, what we’re saying is that it would be different if this was amicable,” Liam says, stealing some of Louis’ fries. 

“This is so wild though,” Zayn says, elbowing Liam in the side. “Can’t believe you’re gay.”

“I don’t know,” Liam says. “Always kind of wondered if you were bi and just didn’t talk about it. Can’t believe you and Harry though.”

“Did you talk to him?” Niall asks. 

“Not yet,” Louis says, fighting not to squirm in his seat. He’s avoided thinking about Harry over the last few hours. 

“You have to tell him,” Liam says, and Zayn nods sagely. 

Clenching his jaw, Louis swallows, reaching down to feel his phone in his pocket. 

“Louis, you have to tell Harry, like now,” Niall says, and Louis frowns, scoffing his refusal. 

“One shitty, horrible interaction with people who hate me per day is all I can handle,” Louis says. “I’m already pushing it. Bo hasn’t called or texted.”

“Bo doesn’t hate you,” Niall says, flicking the back of Louis’ hand hard enough to hurt. 

“Sure,” Louis says. 

“Listen, man,” Niall says, getting up from the table and heading for the kitchen. “I’m not trying to be a dickhead, but Harry’s my friend too. And aside from that, we work together. I’ll see him tomorrow morning. So you tell him or I will.”

“Are you serious?” Louis says, pushing his chair back. 

“Yep,” Niall says. 

Looking from Niall to Liam and Zayn, Louis asks, “You guys hear this?”

“Niall’s right, man,” Zayn says with a shrug. 

“Look, Louis, you’re allowed a certain amount of leeway because this sucks. I can’t imagine figuring out my sexuality after twenty-five years of marriage,” Liam says, folding his arms on the table and leaning in. “With everything else, your mind’s probably all over the place. But you can’t bury your head in the sand. And you can’t let Harry get blindsided. He deserves to know what’s going on.”

Louis slams his hands flat on the table top and stands up, stalking off towards the guest room. 

“Where are you going?” Niall shouts after him. 

“I’m not fucking talking to Harry in front of you guys!” Louis yells back just before he shuts the door and throws himself on the bed, kicking his feet and screaming into the pillow. 

He gives himself a moment to have a fit and then he props himself up on his elbows, unlocks his phone, and calls Harry before he can think too much about it. 

“Hello?” Harry answers and the familiar deep voice is an immediate comfort, leaving Louis speechless until he says, “Hello? Louis?”

“Harry. Hey. Sorry,” Louis says. 

“Kind of tired of hearing you apologize,” Harry says, huffing a quiet laugh. 

“I…” Louis clears his throat, and says, “I bet.”

“What’s up?” Harry asks. “I’m in the middle of something, so if you just called to say you’re sorry again, we can skip it and—”

“I’m getting divorced,” Louis rushes out. “Not— Not, like— It’s not anything to do with you.”

“Okay…”

“That’s not entirely true,” Louis says, wishing he’d texted instead. Not that his words would come across better typed out. “The reason I’m getting divorced is because I’m gay and my wife— ex-wife? Bridget. She deserves better than a husband who’s— who can’t love her how she deserves to be loved.”

“Okay, um… That makes sense,” Harry says. 

“But also— Shit, Harry. Bo saw us last night,” Louis says, and every time he tells someone else about being caught by his daughter of all people, guilt swells inside his stomach and he feels like throwing up. 

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, and something clatters in the background. “I’m sorry, Louis. That’s… That’s my fault. I shouldn’t’ve kissed you like that and—”

“Harry, it’s— Obviously, it’s not fine, but it’s not— I don’t blame you. I had to tell you though because I did tell Bridget and—”

“Everything?” Harry asks. 

“No,” Louis says. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t figure it out.”

“This is… Wow. This is a lot.”

“I’m sorry. I needed to tell you though, just in case— I mean, I don’t know what’s happening. What’s going to happen. How this is all… Divorce? How…” Louis takes a few breaths and says, “I don’t want anyone to bother you or anything.”

“Oh… Louis, I… I’m a big boy,” Harry says, though he sounds sad, and Louis can almost hear his brow furrowing. “I can handle myself. Thank you for telling me though.”

“Oh, um, okay. I guess that’s true. Shit. Okay. The guys know. Not details, but I’m staying at Niall’s and they’re here. Not  _ here _ here because I’m in the bedroom and they’re out there, but I—”

“Louis, I need to go. I’ll see you around,” Harry says, and the line goes dead. 

“Jesus,” Louis says, tossing his phone to the side and rolling onto his back, pulling the pillow over his face. 

Eventually, he joins the guys back in the dining room, apologizing even though he’s still grumpy about it. It’s only a few minutes before he leaves again, this time with his keys, and their apologies following him out the door. 

Speculation and presumptions are something he’ll have to get used to, though he didn’t expect it from his friends. Their words ring in his ears as he drives away, knowing they’re merely curious, and other people’s motivations won’t be so pure.

_ “So… You and Harry, huh?” _

_ “All summer?” _

_ “The S.O.L.O. conference?” _

_ “Shit, man, I put you guys in the same hotel room.” _

_ “Oh… That’s why you went up in the parasail together.” _

_ “And the sailboat! I thought that was weird!” _

_ “When you asked me how old I was when I realized I was gay…”  _

_ “I thought he was flirting with you and you were just… not picking up on it.” _

Louis drives, letting his tears fall, and finds himself pulling up in front of Harry’s building without knowing how he got there. He sits in the parking lot, but doesn’t get out of his truck. When his eyes are sore and irritated and he can’t cry anymore, he drives back to Niall’s house, ringing the bell and shuffling inside, kicking his flip flops off just inside the door.

Niall steps aside to let him in. “Louis, man, I’m sorry. We’re sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Louis says, though it’s far from it. “I get that you’re curious. It just sucks. Hate feeling like people are talking about me behind my back.”

“Not to be an asshole, but didn’t you think about that when you, like, you know…” Liam says, bobbing his head side to side.

It seems an impossible task, explaining how it started, how naive he feels now, looking back over his behavior with Harry in Hatteras, seeing them from the outside, but he tries. Leaving out the details, of course. He tells them they were drunk the first time, that he hadn't realized how attracted he was to Harry until Harry kissed him, how Harry had no idea he was married at first, how he ran the next morning. He doesn’t tell them about that first night after drinks at Whaley’s when he’d been terrified that Harry would expose him, and had wound up getting a blow job instead. But they fill in everything else. 

“Shit, really? You must’ve been flipping out, having Harry sprung on you like that.” Niall shakes his head, and says, “Imagine if I’d hired someone else.”

“Can’t think about it like that,” Louis says, closing his eyes. It’s a pointless exercise, dwelling on the what ifs. If Harry never moved to Ocean Grove, Louis would still be gay. He probably wouldn't know it as surely as he does now, but he would’ve wondered, and eventually he would’ve figured it out. 

“Would you take it back?” Liam asks, slipping his arm around Zayn’s waist. “Any of it?”

“I— I— I can’t. I just can’t think— I mean, shit. Of course I wouldn’t want to hurt Bridget. Or Bo. Fuck, man. But I can’t sit here and wish what I— I can’t wish Harry away.”

Liam’s eyes go wide and he scratches at his beard. “Oh…”

“Yeah, oh,” Louis says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, trying not to scowl at his friends. “Wait. What do you mean?”

Zayn snorts quietly, leaning in and resting his arms on the table. “He means Harry wasn’t just a convenient lay.”

“Of course not!” Louis says, throwing his hands in the air. 

At the same time, all three of the guys nod and slowly say, “Oh…” 

“What the fuck was that?” Louis asks.

Tapping his fingers on the table, Liam asks, “Does Harry know or…”

“I don’t think he does,” Zayn says, pressing his lips together like he’s fighting a laugh. “Wow, man. You’re really a mess.”

“Thanks,” Louis says. 

“Listen, um…” Liam pushes his chair back and says, “We’re going to go. Work in the morning. And… I know this is all happening fast and you’ve got a lot of shit to do tomorrow already with finding a lawyer and whatever else, but you should think about maybe seeing a therapist.”

Blinking at them, unable to respond, Louis sits there and watches them go. He says good night to Niall, too, and crawls into bed in the guest room. Sleep eludes him for hours, and when it finally takes him, it’s restless and short. 

≈≈≈≈≈

He wakes up before the sun and heads for the beach, hoping the silence of the sunrise will help clear his head. 

Maybe he does need therapy. Shit. He should look into it for Bo. God, please don’t let this cause some sort of long term damage. Fuck. She still hasn’t responded to his last text. 

Louis cuts his surfing short and heads back to Niall’s. Thanks to Liam volunteering to switch the schedule around, Louis has the day off, and a list of shit to do that feels like it’s a mile long. Really, it’s rather short. 

He doesn’t want to call a lawyer, though he knows he should. Late night searching led him to a list of grounds for divorce in their state, and adultery is one of the few things for which they’ll grant a divorce without the requirement of a year-long separation. Considering Bridget's reaction yesterday, she’s probably not going to want to make this easy for him.

Instead of trying to find a lawyer, he sends Bo another text. 

Bo-Bo  
  
**Louis:** Hey I wanted to let you know that if you want to start seeing a therapist, I’ll cover the copay  
  


A moment later, she responds, and he laughs. 

Bo-Bo  
  
**Bo:** You’re so weird  
  
**Bo:** Let me be mad at you  
  
**Louis:** Ok but the offer is there  
  
**Bo:** Ok  
  
**Bo:** Stop texting when I’m in class  
  
**Louis:** You shouldn’t have your phone on!  
  


He does eventually call a lawyer. Not that he actually talks to a lawyer, but he talks to someone, and sets up an appointment for the following week. One thing done, a million more to go. Starting with lunch. 

A week passes, and Louis wades through it, working as much as he can, buying groceries for Niall’s place, and doing housework. That’s how he knows he’s avoiding real life, when he finds himself dusting Niall’s ceiling fans, vacuuming the floors, and Windexing his sliding glass door. 

Liam’s birthday is that weekend, but he and Zayn decide to celebrate on their own, which Louis is willing to accept because he doesn’t want to go out or do anything or be seen by anyone. The thought of making conversation, even with a bartender, after having to talk to people on the beach all day is exhausting. He’s thankful his friends are understanding. 

The meeting with the lawyer is a complete waste of money. Two hundred bucks to find out that it won’t do him any good to file for divorce since he’s the one who cheated. Sure, he can file. It’ll cost him five hundred-fifty dollars and, unless Bridget contests it or files her own petition, it’ll be a year before the divorce will be granted. He doesn’t want to wait that long and he doesn’t think Bridget does either. 

On the positive side of things, at least Bo answers his texts now, though she won’t talk to him, and she doesn’t text him unless he messages her first. Sneakily, she agreed to go to therapy only if he goes to therapy. 

It’s two weeks from the day he left home that Bridget texts him, asking him to come over and talk. He doesn’t get the message until after he leaves the beach, and even then, he hesitates, not sure of her motives, but he agrees. First, he goes to Niall’s and showers, putting on clean clothes so that if whatever conversation he’s about to have goes on for hours, he’s at least not sandy and salt covered for it. 

Niall had to stop answering the door when Louis rang the bell in order to get him to use his key or just come in, and it’s almost the inverse of that, standing at the front door of his own house, key in hand, unwilling to use it. He rings the bell. 

Bridget answers the door, raising her eyebrows at him, and stepping aside to let him in. 

“Hi, um…” Louis rubs his hands together, not sure what to do with them. He leaves his shoes on in case she throws something else at him and he needs to run. 

“Have a seat,” Bridget says, gesturing to the kitchen table. “I’ve been expecting to be served with divorce papers, but so far, nothing.”

“Yeah, about that,” Louis says, pulling out a chair, but waiting for her to sit. “I can do it, but it’ll be a no fault divorce, meaning we’d have to be legally separated for a year first.”

“I think not,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. 

Louis’ eyes dart to the open bottle of wine on the counter and it reminds him that this is probably much harder for her than it is for him. “I didn’t think you’d want that. So, I thought, you can file, and I can pay you back for the cost. It wouldn’t be fair for you to pay that.”

“You’re damn right,” she says, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “How long’s it been going on? All summer?”

“Bridget, I don’t— I don’t want to talk about—”

“Why not? You did it! Don’t you want to admit it? Clear the air? Just…” she sighs, and saccharine sweet says, “Let it all out, Louis.”

“No, I… I should go, actually.” Louis scoots his chair back and says, “This was a bad idea.”

“Shit. No, wait,” Bridget says, shaking her head and turning to look behind her. “I’ve had wine.”

“I can tell,” Louis says. “We can talk another time.”

“No, let’s do it now,” she insists, smacking her hand on the table. “I want to be done.”

“Okay…”

“I talked to a lawyer,” she says, reaching for the bottle of wine and setting it on the table. She stands and grabs a glass, then another, offering it to Louis.

“No, thanks though.”

“I didn’t tell Andrea because she has a big mouth, but I talked to a lawyer,” Bridget says, filling her glass and sitting back down. “He said I could get alimony.”

“Oh?” Louis swallows hard. He knew it was a possibility, but with Bridget’s higher salary, he assumed she’d let it be. 

“Bo wants us to be friends,” she says, changing the subject. 

“She does?” Louis asks, surprised to hear it because Bo hasn’t said anything like that to him.

“Yeah, so I’m not going to take you to the cleaners,” Bridget says, lifting her glass and winking at him.

Louis nods, and though he’s not sure he believes her, he mutters, “Thanks.”

“I do have a proposition for you. Listen. Don’t talk. I want to sell the house, but apparently, if people know you’re getting a divorce, then houses tend to sell for less. So I want you to move back in, and live in the guest room until the house sells.”

“Oh… I don’t… I don't… That’s a bad idea.”

Bridget heaves a sigh and says, “I knew you wouldn’t go for it.”

“I think you should keep the house. I don’t know how that works with what we have left to pay on the mortgage, but—”

“I don’t want to live here anymore,” Bridget says, staring at the swirling wine in her glass. 

“Then we can sell it.”

“I do want my car.”

“Why wouldn’t you keep—”

“I want to make sure Bo has her car, too.”

“Bo can’t have her car at school,” Louis reminds her, stifling a yawn. 

“I don’t want you to have it, though.”

“Why would I— Bridget, what the hell do you think I’m doing here? I want you to have the house. Have your car. Whatever you want. I know this is my fault. I’m not trying to— to take anything.”

“You should take the furniture from the guest room ’cause it was your mom’s. Remember when we didn’t have a bed? Just a futon. And your mom thought she was being so sly… She went out and bought herself a new bedroom set and— Shit!” Jumping up out of her chair, Bridget doesn’t move fast enough to avoid the wine as it drips off the table onto her pristine white pants, but Louis catches the glass before it rolls off onto the floor. “Goddamn it. These are new pants.”

Louis sits there, unsure of what to do. His instinct is to help her, but he doesn’t think she’d want that, at least not if she was sober. 

“I have to put these in the wash,” Bridget says, unzipping her pants as she walks out of the kitchen towards the laundry room. He can still see her though, the laundry room door is wide open, almost in his direct line of sight, and he closes his eyes. “Oh, that’s right! Keep ’em shut! I’ll just be a sec. Got some sweatpants in the dryer… Okay, you can look now!”

Carefully, Louis opens his eyes, and she’s grinning at him, standing there in front of the washer, wearing his sweatpants. She drops her wine stained pants in and starts the machine, swaying her hips on the way back to the table. 

“I, um… I should go,” Louis says, pressing his lips together. He nods and stands, patting his pockets. “I talked to Bo about starting therapy. We have a deal. She’ll go if I go. I told her I’d pay for it.”

“I hate that you’re so nice,” Bridget says, scowling at him and refilling her wine glass. Eyes widening, her eyebrows shoot up and she asks, “How’s Harry?”

Shrugging, and annoyed that she’d bring him up, Louis says, “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“How can you just—” Bridget mimics him, dramatically shrugging her shoulders and rolling her eyes. “You left me for him, Louis!”

“I didn’t leave you for Harry,” Louis says, shaking his head and starting for the door. “Meeting him was just… the catalyst.”

“Right…” she says, following him to the door. “Tell him I said hello.”

Louis steps outside, and turns to look at her. “Drink some water. Let me know about the filing. Like I said, I’ll pay for it, but if you want to get this finalized before next fall, you have to be the one to do it.”

She slams the door in his face. It could’ve gone a lot worse.

≈≈≈≈≈


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again! extra love and thanks to nic and megan!

≈≈≈≈≈

Niall, who loves a good cookout, and always has one on Labor Day, decides he’s not having one this year because it would be uncomfortable for Louis. He doesn’t mention Harry, but Louis knows what Niall’s thinking. It would be uncomfortable for Harry, too, if he invited him or if he didn’t. And for Niall.

He doesn’t hear from Bridget and spends the week after Labor Day wondering if he should remind her, but that Friday afternoon, while he and Zayn are helping some kids find properly fitting life jackets before their banana boat ride, he’s served divorce papers. For a few seconds, he’s flooded with fear, and then he remembers he’s been expecting this. 

“Thanks,” Louis says, stomach swirling as he looks the guy up and down. He appears miserable, on the beach in a suit, sweating in the sun, sand on his nice leather shoes, and Louis doesn’t blame him. “Sorry you had to come down here.”

“Part of the job,” he says, and starts back up the beach. 

Louis walks to the parking lot and sticks the envelope behind the seat of his truck. At least he doesn’t have to worry about reminding Bridget. 

≈≈≈≈≈

That evening, while Niall’s stirring the pasta he’s making for dinner, he says, “Liam told me Bridget got the divorce rolling.”

“Yep,” Louis says, tapping the still unopened envelope on the kitchen counter. 

“Next weekend’s my birthday,” Niall says, as if Louis doesn’t know, but Louis nods anyway. “I want to go out to Whaley’s, have wings, drink beer, and I want you  _ and  _ Harry to be there.”

Flipping the envelope over, Louis traces the edge of the seal. “I’m not going to show up at Whaley’s, and hang out with Harry like nothing happened.” 

“Then I guess you have a week to figure it out.”

“Man…”

“Look, dude. This can’t— You can’t go on like this forever. Harry’s my friend,” Niall says. “Pull your head out of your ass and talk to him.”

“What am I supposed to tell him?” Louis asks, not that he expects Niall to know the answer. 

Niall shrugs. “I don’t know. The truth? ‘Sorry, shit’s really fucked up right now, but it’s Niall’s birthday and we should put our differences aside—’”

“Differences.” Louis snorts. “What differences?”

“I don’t know! Whatever the hell you guys were fighting about,” Niall says.

“We weren’t fighting. Or, I mean, not recently. The only thing we’ve really fought about is, um…” Cringing, Louis says, “I was a dick.”

Niall smiles, and says, “And Harry didn’t like that?”

“Fuck off,” Louis says with a shake of his head. “Next Friday or Saturday or what?”

“What?”

“Your birthday, Niall.” 

“Oh, it’s on Sunday,” Niall says. “We won’t be out late.”

Louis nods, flicking the corner of the envelope. “I’ll talk to Harry. Just not today.”

“You going to open that?” Niall asks, leaning down to rest his elbows on the countertop. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, slipping his index finger under the flap. “Don’t know what I’m so afraid of.”

“It’s a big fucking deal, man,” Niall says, giving Louis a little shove to his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter that you knew it was coming. It’s okay to be scared.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, unable to think of any other response. 

“Open it. Rip off the Band-Aid,” Niall says, watching him until he does it. 

Louis scans the papers, barely absorbing a word. “Three weeks to respond. I have to fill out this form. Check boxes. This is all… so weird.”

“What’s it look like?” Niall asks, trying to read the papers upside down.

“It’s what we discussed. I’m surprised she remembered, honestly.” Louis runs his fingertip over the paper. “Oh… She wants to share any profit from the house. Sell the house, pay off our combined debt, and split what’s left 70/30.”

“You sound surprised,” Niall says.

“Yeah, well, I told her to keep the house, so thirty percent of the profit’s a lot more than I was expecting.”

“Really?” Niall asks. “You were ready to cut and run, huh?”

Louis rolls his eyes and flicks Niall in the forehead. “This shit’s my fault, Ni. I just want her to be happy. Not have to worry.”

Reaching over, Niall sweetly pats Louis’ cheeks. “You fucked up bad, but you’re a good guy, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Keep saying that, maybe it’ll come true.” Sliding the papers back into the envelope, Louis makes a note in his phone calendar to return the divorce petition Monday morning. “Hey, do you know Harry’s schedule this week?”

Niall hums. “Yeah, but… I’m not telling you. Text him. Call him. Whatever you’ve got to do. Figure it out. And don’t disappoint me.”

≈≈≈≈≈

Louis waits until the next evening, after everyone’s gone from the beach service building, and he’s alone in his office, cold air blowing over him, drying the salt water and sweat on his skin. 

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Can we talk?  
  


When Harry doesn’t respond immediately, Louis leaves his phone on his desk and walks out to his truck, figuring he might as well do something while he waits. He cleans it, tossing out empty Starbucks cups and water bottles, pulling dirty t-shirts from under the seats, and finally vacuuming so much sand from the floorboards, he has to stop and empty the Shop-Vac before he’s finished. 

He’s just about to give up waiting and go to Niall’s when his phone vibrates on his desk, four short bursts. 

Harry  
  
**Louis:** Can we talk?  
  
**Harry:** Sure  
  
**Harry:** What’s up?  
  
**Louis:** Can we talk in person? Whenever you're free  
  
**Harry:** Off at 8. Meet at the airport?  
  
**Louis:** See you then  
  


Harry sends him the shaka emoji and Louis sighs. Three hours to drive himself crazy before he meets with Harry. Perfect. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Three hours is exactly enough time to drive himself crazy, then back to sane, then back to crazy again. He also manages to shower and cook dinner and start a load of laundry. It’s one of the adjustments to living with Niall. Unlike Bridget, Niall doesn’t start his laundry for him. Niall doesn’t watch his pile of dirty clothes grow and know by the volume of it that he’ll run out of shorts and clean underwear. 

When he pulls into the lot a few minutes before eight, it’s empty, so he backs into the space near the fence, getting out and lowering the tailgate. He sits there waiting for Harry, watching the colors of the twilight sky shift and change, while the runway lights flash. It’s quarter after when Harry shows up, and Louis wonders if he made him wait on purpose. 

Harry leans back against the chain link fence, arms and ankles crossed. “What’s up?”

Seeing him up close loosens something inside him, and Louis says, “Sorry to make you come out—”

“Jesus Christ, Louis,” Harry says, shifting and making the fence rattle. “Can you just… talk?”

Quickly, Louis nods, and says, “Niall’s birthday is coming up next weekend. He wants us all to hang out and I wanted to— to make sure it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for you if I was there.” 

Shaking his head, Harry says, “I haven’t seen Liam or Zayn since, um…”

“Oh! Oh, um…” Louis swallows, rubbing his chapped lips together. 

“What did you tell them?” Harry asks, voice small and quiet. 

“Not much,” Louis says, though he isn’t sure if that’s true. 

“They think I’m… That I ruined your life,” Harry says, as if it’s the truth.

“Who told you that?” Louis asks, hopping off the tailgate of his truck and taking a step towards Harry. “They don’t think that. Who said that?”

Harry shakes his head, refusing to meet Louis’ eyes. “No one. But that’s what happened, isn’t it?”

“Harry… No.”

“If I wasn’t here… If I never met you. Didn’t move here… You’d still be married, still be happy…” Harry hugs himself tighter, and Louis’ heart aches. 

“I don’t know how to explain,” Louis says, wishing it was easier for him to understand, then it would be easier to say out loud. “Things are shitty for me right now, yeah. I’m getting divorced, which is like, a mindfuck. But I’m not— I do regret the way I did things, but I can’t— Like I told the guys, I can’t wish you away. I wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t?” Harry asks, finally looking at him, eyes boring into his. “What else did you tell them?”

“Tried not to tell them shit,” Louis mutters, still pissed that they made him talk about it at all. They both turn to watch a plane coming at them, taking off and flying over their heads. Once it’s gone, Louis says, “It’s none of their business what we— I mean, obviously I didn’t tell them what we did, but they wanted to know, you know, when and how it started. And I told them it was my fault. That I should’ve told you I was married in the first place. But that I— I couldn’t keep away from you.”

Scoffing loudly, Harry props one foot up on the fence behind him. Chin to his chest, he says, “Doing a fine job of that now.”

Physically, he’s doing his best to stay away from Harry, but every day he misses him. Every night he thinks about sending him a text to tell him to have sweet dreams. Louis snorts. “Shows what you know.”

“I know I haven’t seen you in weeks. I know you dropped a fucking bomb on me and took off, only to turn around and do it again the next day.” Pushing away from the fence, Harry asks, “What the hell am I supposed to think? First you tell me I’m— I’m the only guy you’ve ever been with, and less than twenty-four hours later, you tell me you’re getting divorced, but that it’s nothing to do with me, and I— I’m just expected to deal with it, I guess.”

“Shit, Harry,” Louis says, taking another step towards him, arms out like he has any right to hold Harry, to offer comfort. He drops them to his sides, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t mean— God, I keep saying this, but fuck. I didn’t mean to hurt you or lie to you. I— I didn’t know— I mean, the gay thing? I’m gay! Surprise! Had no clue! Just oops! And—”

Harry laughs his loud, honking laugh, covering his mouth like that’ll do a bit of good to stop it, and Louis smiles, grin taking over his face. As Harry’s cackling quiets down, he sighs, then says, “You’re a quick learner. I honestly had no idea, but Lou, I… I would’ve done so many things differently if I’d known.”

Shaking his head, Louis says, “I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t even be honest with myself.”

“What about now?” Harry asks.

Not sure what he’s asking, Louis says, “I’m trying. I’m— Bridget filed for divorce, so that’s happening. Like, the process has begun, but I don’t know how long it’ll take. Bo’s sort of speaking to me again. Just texts, but it’s better than nothing. I’m trying to figure out therapy, only I have to go first. Or I guess I have to call somebody first. But it’s scary and I— I’m still so sorry that I put you in the middle of all this shit. You don’t deserve it.”

“Lou, I… Maybe I didn’t think it through completely at the start, but I knew what I was getting into. Not the first time, but since then? I knew you had a family. I knew it wasn’t right, but I did it anyway because I wanted to be with you, however I could.” His words hit home, echoing Louis’ thought process from most of the summer. Looking down at his hands, Harry says, “Even if I only got a little bit of you, it was something.”

“Harry…” Trying to control his racing heart and keep himself from reaching out to touch Harry, Louis stops, taking a few steps back and sitting on the tailgate. “I’ve been so unfair to you.”

Harry shrugs, reaching out and kicking Louis’ dangling flip flop off his foot. “Next Sunday?”

“Yeah, Niall’ll let you know what time,” Louis says, hopping down and fishing his flip flop from under his truck. He stands, letting himself look at Harry in the flashing lights of the runway, and wanting more than anything to gently rub the line between his eyebrows until Harry relaxes and smiles. There’s really nothing stopping him, other than the fear that he might hurt Harry again. “I should probably go. Let you get home.”

“Okay,” Harry says, scuffing his shoes in the loose gravel. “See you.”

Louis watches him drive away, waiting for his Jeep to disappear down the road before he gets up and closes the tailgate, heading to Niall’s. On the way there, he runs through scenarios in his mind, wondering what his life might be like if he and Harry were together, if he was out, if things were different.

≈≈≈≈≈

Bridget’s decision to keep the news of their impending divorce a secret turns out to be a temporary thing, which he should’ve expected. After he returns the papers, and texts her to let her know, she responds that she’d like Andrea to be their real estate agent when they put the house on the market. It’s fine. He doesn’t care, really. It’s not as if he thinks she should keep the news to herself, but the more people who know, the faster gossip will spread. Other people knowing, other people finding out about the divorce, and his affair, about Harry, and that they’ll likely hear it from someone who isn’t directly involved irritates him. 

With the summer season over, the beach service winds down to a skeleton crew. Louis, Zayn, Liam, and a few others whose jobs are through the city’s parks and recreation service, stay on through the winter, splitting off to do other things.

Louis does a lot of maintenance on the equipment during the off season, repairs to lifeguard stands, bikes, chairs, umbrellas, and everything else, upkeep on the boats and jet skis, and he works with the indoor recreation facilities that don’t do as much business in the summer. Come cooler temperatures, and the rainy season, he spends much of his time working with the city league sports teams, managing and organizing, running around in the background. It’s like having three different jobs throughout the year. 

In the past, that didn’t change a lot for Louis socially. He just didn’t see his friends as often in the winter. Now, though, living with Niall and going through a divorce, Zayn and Liam have made a point to have them over for dinner. 

“Harry thought you guys were mad at him,” Louis says, the first time he sees Liam and Zayn after talking to Harry that night in the airport lot. “I told him you weren’t, but now I’m wondering if I was wrong, since he’s not here.”

“Didn’t think you’d want to hang out with him here,” Liam says, glancing over at Zayn. “Didn’t know if you guys were on speaking terms.”

“Oh, um… We are,” Louis says. “We talked about Niall’s birthday.”

Zayn turns to Liam and says, “We should have him over Saturday. See if he wants to watch football with you.”

“I know you don’t want to watch it,” Liam says with a laugh. “I’ll text him.”

“Thanks,” Louis says.

“Don’t thank us,” Zayn says, shaking his head. “Harry’s our friend, too. We did think about asking him over tonight, but this was kind of last minute, and to be honest, we didn’t want to have to warn you ahead of time or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, reaching over and lightly shoving Louis’ shoulder. “Glad you guys are talking. Makes things easier for us.”

Niall’s birthday the following weekend is nothing like the parties they used to throw when they were younger. Since it’s Niall’s special day, Louis drives, figuring he’ll have his one vodka and soda and Niall can have as many drinks as he’d like without worrying about getting home. 

All week Louis has been nervous about seeing Harry again. Missing him and wondering how he’s doing, even going so far as to drive by the airport parking lot one afternoon, but Harry’s Jeep wasn’t there, so he stopped for a while, watching the planes fly over, and went back to work. 

When they get to Whaley’s, Liam and Zayn are waiting, sitting side by side, so Louis slides into the booth across from them, letting Niall have the outside. 

“Nervous?” Zayn asks quietly, tapping the back of Louis’ hand.

“Shut up,” Louis says, but he nods. He just wants to see Harry again, but it’ll probably be uncomfortable for them both.

They’ve all got drinks before Harry arrives, and Louis is to the point of asking if Niall invited him or not when he walks in, hair damp like he just got out of the shower. 

“Hi, um… Sorry I’m late,” Harry says, looking around the table before sitting next to Zayn and reaching across to knock his knuckles against Niall’s. “Happy birthday, man.”

“Thanks,” Niall says, turning to Louis before he says, “Harry got me the nicest gift.”

“We don’t do gifts, Harry,” Liam says, leaning across Zayn. “And you missed my birthday by two weeks.”

Harry’s mouth drops into a perfect circle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Shut up, Li,” Niall says. “Make him feel bad for being nice to me. You should be nicer to me.”

“Kick your ass across the bar on your birthday,” Zayn says, and Louis laughs. 

“I’d like to see that,” Louis says, smiling and meeting Harry’s eyes. “What’d you get him?”

“A dress,” Harry says, grinning while Niall tries to explain. 

“It’s a terry cloth poncho! Like a hooded poncho made out of towel material,” Niall says. “Call it a dress. I don’t care. I’m sexy.”

Harry winks at Niall and a little bubble of jealousy rises in Louis’ throat. He coughs, clearing it away, and says, “So it’s a poncho, but also a towel? That’ll be good for the pancake house after surfing.”

“See? It’s a nice gift!” Niall drapes his arm around Louis’ shoulders and hugs him to his side.

“You’ll keep your shorts on under it though, right?” Louis asks, knocking his head into Niall’s. 

It’s a good night. Louis doesn’t get to sit beside Harry, but he shouldn’t’ve expected to. He isn’t sure why he thought he would, but he can’t argue with the disappointment he felt when Harry first sat down, as far from him as possible while still being at the same table. 

Niall has a fun time, drinking too much, and singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to himself when they refuse to sing along a fourth time. They ask Shawn to wrap up the leftover wings, and are waiting on that so they can leave, having already paid the tab, when Harry freezes with his glass halfway to his mouth, eyes going wide. 

“What?” Louis asks. 

Cringing, Harry ducks his head slightly, squeezing his eyes closed like he’s trying to make himself disappear, and before Louis can ask again, Zayn says, “Shit. Bridget.”

Without a single discreet bone in his body, Niall whips around, half leaning out of the booth to watch her approach. When she stops at their table, focusing her narrowed eyes on each of them in turn, Niall shouts, “It’s my birthday!”

Tight-lipped smile in place, Bridget nods and, directing her venom at Louis and Harry respectively, sweetly says, “Fuck you.”

“Hey…” Niall starts, but as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone, with Andrea on her heels. 

“Oh my God,” Liam says, burying his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. 

“Are you laughing?” Louis asks. 

“Shit,” Zayn says, knocking his shoulder into Liam. “Harry, wait—”

“I’m just—” Harry jerks his thumb over his shoulder, sliding out of the booth, and hurrying towards the restrooms. 

“Should I go after him?” Niall asks, frowning. “It’s my birthday.”

“Nah, he just went to the bathroom,” Zayn says, turning to Liam. “Stop laughing.”

“Can’t believe you’re laughing, man,” Niall says.

“Why not? It’s fucking hysterical,” Louis says, nudging Niall. “Let me out. I’m going to go check on him.”

The bathroom’s empty. Harry snuck out the side door. In the time it takes Louis to get back to their table, he’s already decided to murder Liam. 

“He took off,” Louis says directly to Liam. 

“Shit. Sorry.” Liam giggles and says, “You know how I laugh when I’m uncomfortable! I didn’t mean to.”

“You should go after him, man,” Zayn says, nodding to Niall. “We’ll get him home.”

≈≈≈≈≈

When Louis pulls up outside Harry’s apartment, he isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do or say other than to apologize again, though he doesn’t think it’ll do any good. He rings the bell, shifting from foot to foot until Harry opens the door. 

Red eyed with blotchy cheeks, Harry sniffles like he can’t quite catch his breath, and Louis’ heart breaks for him. 

“Baby,” Louis whispers, instinct carrying him inside, wrapping his arms around Harry and combing his fingers through his hair, holding him tightly while he buries his face in Louis’ shoulder. 

“You—” Harry hiccups, body jerking with a sob. “You shouldn’t call me that.”

“Oh,” Louis says. One hand in Harry’s curls, one in the middle of his back, he stills, and Harry exhales shakily against his neck. 

“Unless I am,” Harry says quietly. “Then it’s okay.”

“You are,” Louis says, scratching Harry’s scalp and rubbing his back. “You are. I’m sorry. I missed you so much.” 

“Missed you too,” Harry says, holding him and rocking them side to side. It’s such a relief, touching him again, holding him again. He has to fix things, get himself together, so it can be like this all the time. Not Harry crying, but Harry in his arms.

After Harry catches his breath, he pulls away, wiping his face with the collar of his shirt. “Do you want something to drink?”

Louis grins, shaking his head and wondering if Harry's always a polite host. “No.”

“Do you want to sit down?” Harry asks, biting his lip, and glancing at the door like he’s worried Louis will decide to leave. 

“Hmm…” Louis takes his hand and leads Harry over to the couch, but instead of sitting, he lays down on his back, patting his chest. “Come here.”

Harry climbs between his legs, settling on top of him, head on Louis’ chest. With Harry’s weight on him, Louis sinks into the cushions, and a sigh escapes him. 

“Missed holding you,” Louis says, inhaling the scent of Harry’s hair and kissing his forehead when he tips his chin up. 

“We have to talk about this,” Harry says. 

“I know. We need to talk about a lot of things,” Louis says. “But can we put it off until tomorrow?”

“Are you going to stay?” Harry asks, lifting his head and meeting Louis’ gaze. “Not for sex. Just…”

“For this?” Louis asks, giving Harry a squeeze around his ribs. “Yeah. Should probably let Niall know though. He’s worse than my grandma the summer I stayed with her when I was seventeen.”

“I should apologize for leaving like I did,” Harry says, hiding his face in Louis’ chest.

“Baby, no,” Louis says. “They were worried about you. Liam, I think, especially, since he couldn’t stop laughing. It’s a nervous thing he does. He didn’t really think it was funny for Bridget to…” Louis sighs, watching Harry rise and fall with the movement of his own body. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“She has every reason to hate me,” Harry says. “I don’t even blame her. I… I wish Bo didn’t though.”

“I don’t think she does,” Louis says. “Listen, I… I don’t expect you to lie about this. But as far as I know, Bo thinks that kiss in the parking lot was the only time. And I’m not planning to tell her any different.”

“What about Bridget?”

“She suspects. She asked me if we’d been together all summer, but she’d been drinking, and I told her I wasn’t going to talk about it.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It’ll just hurt her and I don’t want to do that. And I… I do think she knows.”

“And you don’t think Bo does?” Harry asks, lifting his head to look at him, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, wishing hard. “Oh, Lou… I’m sorry.”

“She’ll figure it out if she hasn’t already. And I’m scared what that’ll mean.”

Harry shifts on top of him, brushing Louis’ hair back off his forehead. “You want to talk about something else? Why don’t you tell me about the summer you spent with your grandmother?”

Grateful for Harry knowing that he needs a distraction, Louis lifts his chin and kisses the tip of his nose, smiling up at him. “She lived in San Diego and I thought I could spend the summer surfing, and I did, but I also learned to play bridge so I could be her partner, painted her entire house inside and out, helped her in her garden, everything. It was like she knew I was looking for a free place to stay so I could just be a beach bum, and she wasn’t having it. Miss her. She passed away a few years ago.”

“She sounds fun,” Harry says, scratching at Louis’ beard. 

“She was,” Louis says, tugging gently on Harry’s earlobe. “I want to listen to you talk. Tell me something about you. Where’d you go to college?”

“University of Tennessee,” Harry says, then he adds, “Go Vols!” 

“Did you swim? Were you on the swim team?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, two hundred meter backstroke and butterfly, and backstroke in the 4x100 meter medley relay.”

“We probably swam against each other,” Louis says, wondering if he thinks back hard enough, he’ll remember. 

“You think?” Harry asks, scrunching his nose. 

“Yeah, I was at USC. I did the 4x100 relay too. Breaststroke. And a bunch of other shit. But we… They’re both in the SEC. We had to compete, didn’t we?”

Harry nods, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. “Can’t believe you went to a school where the mascot is a  _ cock.” _

Rolling his eyes, Louis says, “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard some version of that?”

“You’re not obnoxious about your football team, are you?”

“I’ve never really been a big football fan,” Louis says with a shrug. “So, no. I kind of left it all behind me when I graduated.”

“Not a football fan?” Harry scoots up until they’re nose to nose. “What if I told you I’m a huge Packers fan?”

“I don’t know. Do you have one of those cheese hat things?”

“Maybe,” Harry says, twisting his lips. 

“Do you want to wear it during sex?” Louis asks, snapping his mouth closed. 

“No!” Harry smacks his arm, giggling. 

“Just checking,” Louis says, cradling Harry’s jaw. He rubs his thumb back and forth over his chin, and Harry dips down to connect their lips. 

Harry leaves soft kisses on both corners of Louis’ mouth and whispers, “We’re together now?”

“Looks like it,” Louis jokes, hoping to deflect Harry’s question, but when he frowns down at him, Louis says, “I thought we were going to talk about this tomorrow.”

“Okay, um…” Harry pushes himself up off of Louis and kneels on the couch between his legs, hands clasped in his lap. “I should say, um… I know a lot is changing for you right now and everything is… You’ve got a million things going in a million directions and I’m just one thing—”

“Person,” Louis says. 

“Right. One person. I… I’m not asking you to label this. I’m not expecting anything… important? Big? But I… This is not what it was.”

“Cryptic,” Louis says. 

“I’m serious, Louis. I think the nature of our… beginning gave you the impression that I’m going to behave a certain way, but things won’t be the same as they were before because you’re getting a divorce. It changes the circumstances all around.” 

Louis nods, patting his chest. “I’m cold.”

“I’ll get you a blanket,” Harry says, standing and leaning down to ruffle Louis’ hair. “It’s late. I should get to bed.”

“Are you—” Louis sits up, turning in his seat to watch Harry disappear into his bedroom. He calls after him, “You want me to sleep on the couch?”

“No,” Harry says, poking his head out of his room. “You want to talk in the morning, and that’s fine. You can sleep with me. But no sex.”

Scrambling off the couch, Louis follows him. Harry lets him use his toothbrush, and loans him a pair of sweatpants, and even kisses him once they’re in bed, face to face, bodies aligned, sharing each other’s warmth. The second Louis slides his hand over Harry’s lower back, teasing his fingertip beneath the waist of Harry’s pajama pants, Harry puts a stop to it. He rolls onto his other side and wiggles backwards, fitting himself into the curve of Louis’ body. 

Louis falls asleep with Harry’s scent flooding his senses and wakes up with Harry’s head on his chest, hair tickling his nose. It’s the best he’s slept in weeks. 

≈≈≈≈≈

They drive down to the beach separately in the morning, since Louis has to go pick up his board and change into his shorts, but Harry joins him for the sunrise. It’s the first time since Hatteras that they’ve surfed together, just the two of them, and when Louis finds his gaze caught on Harry’s back or his arms or his chest or his stomach, he doesn’t look away. 

“Quit staring,” Harry says as he paddles closer. He sits up and rolls his eyes. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”

“What?” Louis scowls and asks, “Why not?” 

“Watch the sunrise,” Harry says, pointing at the horizon until Louis paddles around to face it, floating beside him. “I think, since you and Bridget just split up—”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. I mean, I know nobody’s around, so it—”

“I was being an idiot,” Louis says. 

“I wasn’t going to put it that way,” Harry says, snickering quietly. “We’re alone, so it feels like it’s safe, but we’re in public, so…”

“I get it. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Lou. Like I said, we need to talk about a lot of things. I know it seems a little contradictory, given how we got here, and that we’re not… that we haven’t decided what this is, but honesty is important to me, so I want you to tell me if you think…” Harry takes a deep breath, grimacing as he finishes, “If you find yourself interested in someone else, and want to, um… explore that, let me know first.”

They’re barely even together, but Louis has to stop himself from getting defensive, from saying he’d never. Eyes on the horizon, Louis says, “I will.”

“Thanks,” Harry says softly.

“Same, though,” Louis says, turning his head to look at him. “If you want to— to be with someone.”

“I like monogamy,” Harry says. “I do realize how stupid I sound.”

“You don’t sound stupid,” Louis says, shaking his head. 

“I think I do. It’s why I stayed with Steven for so long. Didn’t want to be divorced. Look at me now! Divorced  _ and _ contributing to the demise of your marriage with an adulterous affair.”

“Jesus,” Louis says, reaching out to shove Harry’s shoulder, making him wobble on his board. “Don’t say it like that, Harry.”

“Sorry,” Harry says. “It’s true though.”

“Maybe, but it makes it seem like less than it was. Than it is. I—” Clearing his throat, Louis says, “You’re important to me.”

Harry smiles at him, wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips. It’s not an obvious kiss, but Louis does it back, making it plain that’s what he’s doing with a loud, smooching sound. Pointing to an approaching swell, Harry claims it, and Louis watches him unabashedly while he surfs. 

There’s so much left to talk about, but no need to rush now. For the first time since meeting Harry, Louis feels like they’re headed in the right direction, together. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooooooo! sorry about the wait for these chapters. to quote bridget 'life got in the way' lol

≈≈≈≈≈

With his family spread out around the country, Louis has to call everyone separately to tell them about the impending divorce. It doesn’t feel like something he can do by text, and he’s sure he’d only wind up on the receiving end of phone call after phone call if he told them that way. Much better to do it on his terms. 

He calls Lottie first because she’s his oldest sibling and they were close when he was younger, before Bo was born and Lottie went away to college. 

“Why are you calling me? Did something happen?” Lottie asks instead of answering her phone like a normal person. 

“I— Hello to you, too,” Louis tries to joke. It falls flat when she doesn’t respond, so he says it as plainly as he can, “I left Bridget. We’re getting divorced.”

“Oh, wow…” she drags out the sound and he can tell she’s giving him all her attention now, no longer annoyed that he didn’t use her preferred form of communication. “Don’t make me guess. Tell me what happened.”

Louis sighs, leaning back and sinking into the couch cushion. Telling his friends about his sexuality involved an urgency that isn’t there now, and without that, it’s harder to make himself say the words. Better to make it short and simple. “I, uh… I’m gay.”

He can hear her little gasp, perfectly picturing her face. “Oh…” 

“Oh?” Louis repeats. It isn’t the reaction he was expecting. 

“Yeah.  _ Oh,” _ she says. “How— I mean, I take it you recently figured this out.”

“Over the summer, yeah,” Louis says, biting his lip and wishing she’d settle for that as an explanation. She won’t. They may not speak as often as they once did, but he knows her, and while she can keep a secret, she can also pry and pry until he tells her everything. 

“How’s Bridget?” 

“She, um… Not great,” Louis says. 

“Understandable. I’m sure it was a hell of a shock,” Lottie says. “What about Bo?”

Louis takes a deep breath and blows it out. “She’s not exactly speaking to me right now.”

“Really?” Surprise clear in her voice, Lottie says, “I would’ve thought she’d be more supportive.”

“Yeah, well… Fuck. Okay. I’m just going to say it,” Louis says, steeling himself, and silently rehearsing the words. “I cheated.” This time, her gasp is loud and clear. “For most of the summer, I was having an affair.”

“Holy shit, Louis.” 

“I know,” Louis says, cringing and closing his eyes.

“You asshole! I take it that’s why Bo’s not talking to you?”

“Yep.”

“Dick move,” Lottie says. “Way to royally fuck things up. Jesus.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, rubbing his temples to fend of the headache he knows is approaching. Calling his siblings is likely to take all day. “I know I fucked up.”

“I hope you’ve got a therapist,” Lottie says, and Louis groans quietly. 

“Working on it,” Louis says. “This is all new. I mean, it’s only been a couple of weeks. I’m staying at Niall’s right now.”

“What about your um… the guy. Your boyfriend? Whoever you were, you know, cheating with.”

“Fuck. I should’ve Skyped you all at once. Good thing I’m off today.” Figuring he might as well start at the beginning, Louis says, “His name is Harry. We met at the S.O.L.O. conference in June.”

He keeps it as short as he can, leaving out the details of their affair, but summing it up. There are parts he can’t leave out, like Bo seeing them in the parking lot of Whaley’s, but telling her that brings fresh tears to his eyes, and he winds up sniffling and apologizing to Lottie. 

“You better fix this shit,” Lottie says. “Bo doesn’t need your mistakes fucking up her life.”

“Thanks, Lots,” Louis says with a huff. “I know I messed up. Big time. I’m trying to— to fix it. I don’t know how, but I  _ am _ trying.”

“Are you? Because you said you promised Bo you’d go to therapy, but you haven’t, so…” she trails off, and Louis’ shoulders slump. 

“I’m going to,” Louis says. “I haven’t exactly had time. Everything’s been sort of crazy.”

“I’m sure it has,” Lottie says, and Louis rolls his eyes. “I found my therapist online. I’ll send you a link, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” 

They talk a little more, but before he calls anyone else, he clicks the link from Lottie. 

Discovering he’s gay at forty-seven isn’t something he can type into a search box on the Find a Therapist page of the  _ Psychology Today _ website. He has to make his way through the list, and he ends up typing out a message to copy and paste, and that alone takes more than an hour, including several instances of closing his laptop and walking away. It’s not easy summing up the last few months of his life in a character limited form. It’s quite easy, actually, but it’s embarrassing reading it back.

_ To whom it may concern: _

_ I got drunk and cheated on my wife with a man, continued to have an affair with him for a few months, realized I’m gay, am in the middle of a divorce, and am now beginning a relationship with the man I cheated with. Also my daughter isn’t speaking to me.  _

_ Thank you, _

_ Louis Tomlinson  _

It feels shitty seeing it in black and white on his computer screen, but that’s probably part of the problem. He edits it to add his age, Bo’s age, and the length of his marriage, then sends it to all the therapists on his list. 

At least, when he tells the rest of his siblings, he’s able to say that he’s actively looking for a therapist. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Louis only meets with Andrea and Bridget once about the sale of the house, but once is more than enough. Bridget hardly speaks to him, letting Andrea do most of the talking, which irritates him, especially when she says something about spending money to make money, renovations, and curb appeal. It’s too complicated and too much effort in what he sees as a sinking ship. The house is tied and tangled with their marriage, and there’s no use patching it up now. He winds up leaving and asking them to mail or email anything pertinent. 

While he told Bridget he didn’t want much of anything from the house, he has to go through it all anyway. It would be unfair for him to expect for her to deal with clearing out his shit. They decide it’ll be better if Bridget isn’t there when he moves the rest of his things out. He ropes the guys into helping him.

“Anything in the garage?” Niall asks, hopping out of Louis’ truck.

“I’m leaving the lawn mower and shit like that,” Louis says, unlocking the front door and propping it open. “I have no use for it, and Bridget figures she can sell it, so… The only big things are the furniture in the guest room and the grill on the patio.”

“What else is there?” Liam asks, running his hand over the back of the couch. Louis would like to take it with him, but only because he dreads the prospect of shopping for furniture. 

“Not much,” Louis says, leading them into the guest room. He pulls open drawer after drawer in both dressers, but they’re all empty. “These were full of sheets and curtains and shit, but she must’ve packed them up.”

“Or thrown them out,” Zayn says, standing on the far side of the low dresser. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Louis says. He counts to three, and they lift together, carrying the dresser out to the driveway. Niall and Liam haul the second dresser out. Teamwork makes it easier, but the bed is a pain in the ass no matter how many people are there to help. 

“What the hell? How many different types of screws are there?” Niall asks when Louis drops another mismatched screw into his hand. 

“I don’t know,” Louis says, finally loosening the footboard from the rest of the bed. “This bed’s old. It was my mom’s.”

“I know, man,” Niall says, picking up the footboard to carry it outside. “I remember. Don’t remember this many screws when we put this shit together, but it’s been a while.”

There’s a lot he didn’t realize he was leaving behind: Memorabilia, his old swim team ribbons, pictures of his parents and siblings, and of he and Bo, his dad’s old records, things like that. None of their wedding pictures are around. The framed ones are gone and the album is missing. Maybe Bridget burned them. 

A good amount of the stuff he pulls down from the attic is junk, though some of it’s worth keeping. Once they have everything out in the driveway, Louis goes around back to get his grill, hoping he remembered to cover it up the last time he used it. He walks through the porch door onto the patio, and stops, holding a hand to his open mouth. 

“Holy shit,” Niall says behind him, and Louis combs his fingers through his hair, staring at the mess of bent and dented metal that used to be his grill. 

Louis steps out into the yard, hands on his hips as he moves around the heap of grill parts and takes it all in. His eyes catch on something in the grass, and he bends down, standing up with his old baseball bat in his hand. 

“Bridget did this?” Liam asks, and Louis looks up to see all three of the guys standing in a line, watching him like they’re waiting for a reaction. 

With a shrug, Louis lifts the bat onto his shoulder. He digs his toe into the grass, widens his stance, and swings hard, wishing he could connect with a ball. Maybe he should go to the batting cages, let off some steam.

“I guess so,” Louis says, wondering if it made her feel better to destroy something of his. He pushes the anger down, taking a deep breath. 

The guys help him toss the pieces of his grill into the old wheelbarrow, and after he loads it into the back of his truck, he hauls it and a truckload of junk from the attic to the dump. When they’re done at the house, all four of them meet back at Niall’s to unload his belongings there. 

“Could’ve used Harry’s help,” Liam says after they wedge the dressers into the corner of Niall’s living room. “He working?”

“No,” Niall says before Louis can answer. “He’s off today.”

“I didn’t ask him,” Louis says, squatting down with a box full of books and setting them on the floor. “I know Bridget said she’d clear out while we were working, but I didn’t want to chance them bumping into each other. And I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“You guys are dating then?” Liam asks, glancing over at Zayn. 

“We weren’t sure, you know, after Ni’s birthday,” Zayn says. 

“We’re… We’re not,” Louis says, shaking his head. They haven’t talked about anything, despite Louis’ promise to do so. “We’re not labeling it.”

“Technically you’re still married to Bridget, so that makes sense,” Liam says. “But you and Harry are— You’re together, right?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Louis says, ignoring the way all three of his friends look at him and then at each other while he walks into the kitchen. 

“Okay…” Liam mimes zipping his lips. 

“You want to grill us some burgers for dinner?” Niall asks, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, wait…”

“Funny.” Louis reaches into the fridge and grabs a beer. “I want to order a pizza, drink a beer or two, and I’d like to spend the rest of the day sitting on my ass,  _ not _ talking about my shit.”

“Fine,” Zayn says, snatching Louis’ beer from his hand and opening it for him. “Please get something other than double pepperoni.”

≈≈≈≈≈

When Louis gets off work the next day, he’s dirty and covered in grease and gunk from working on bikes all day. He has to scrub to get clean, and his back is sore from bending and squatting and sitting funny. All of that fades when the doorbell rings and Harry’s standing on Niall’s porch, smiling at him. 

“Hi,” Louis says, stepping aside to let Harry in and pulling him into a hug, glad that Niall’s working until the rec center closes tonight. He’s too tired to fall asleep on Harry’s couch tonight.

“Get everything packed up?” Harry asks, giggling when Louis rubs his beard against his neck and kisses behind his ear. 

“Yeah,” Louis says, taking Harry’s hand and leading him over to the couch. He nods towards the bedroom furniture crammed into Niall’s living room and dining room. “That’s the big stuff.”

“No problems?” Harry asks. 

Louis considers telling him about the grill, but just thinking about it raises an anger at Bridget that he doesn’t want to deal with, so he keeps it to himself. “Nope. No problems. Unless you count Niall’s knee.”

“You want help unpacking some of this?” Harry asks, taking in the stacks of boxes. 

“Not really. Don’t know where I’d put it anyway,” Louis says, dropping onto the couch. “Come sit.”

Harry sits beside him, looking over like he wants to say something. He frowns, pulling at his lower lip, and before he can speak, Louis climbs over him, straddling his lap, distracting him with a kiss. It’s warm and gentle, not hot and heavy. None of their kisses have been recently, but Louis doesn’t really mind. They need time to adjust to the changing situation between them, and that includes the bedroom. Sex, when it happens again, hopefully won’t be the rushed and needy thing it was. 

Still, sitting with his knees on either side of Harry’s thighs, putting pressure on Harry’s hardening cock, and drawing quiet moans from him while they make out on Niall’s couch is undeniably a position that could lead to other things. Which is why Louis practically leaps off of Harry when the front door opens and Niall walks in.

“Whoa!” Covering his eyes with his hands, Niall says, “Dude. Oh my god. I did not need to see or hear that.”

Holding a throw pillow to his face, Harry whines, and Louis can see the flush rising up his neck. He turns to Niall, torn between his own embarrassment at being caught and the urge to defend Harry and himself. They’re adults after all. 

Before Louis can decide what to say, Niall tells him, “You have to get your own place.”

Just yesterday Niall made a big deal of making sure Louis knew he was welcome to stay for as long as he needed. “Is this because of Harry?”

“Well, yeah,” Niall says, laughing and reaching into the fridge. He pulls out the box of pizza leftover from the night before and starts for the door, gesturing at them sitting on the couch with a wide sweep of his arm. “I didn’t sign on for this.”

Louis’ mouth falls open and he narrows his eyes. “Because we’re gay?”

Beside him, Harry gasps, but Niall cackles, letting his head fall back and laughing up at the ceiling. When he catches his breath, he says, “Louis, I love you, man. No, this is nothing to do with you being gay. I just figure, at my age, I’m done walking in on my friends making out, especially on my own couch.”

“Oh,” Louis says, closing his eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Niall says, spinning his keys around his finger. “I came home to grab this pizza. Meant to take it for my dinner since I’m working late tonight.”

“Right, um… Sorry again,” Louis says, and Harry tosses the pillow into Louis’ lap.

“Sorry, Niall,” Harry says, biting his lip. 

“See you guys later,” Niall says, shaking his head as he disappears out the door. 

As soon as the door shuts, Harry says, “Did you really think Niall had a problem with us being gay?”

“Not really,” Louis says. “I think I keep expecting people to be mad at me about it.”

“I mean, there are definitely people like that, but Niall’s not one of them.” Shifting on the couch, so he’s sitting sideways and facing Louis, Harry says, “It’s okay, you know, if you’re not out and loud about it. Especially now, when this is new.”

Louis glances over, noticing how tight the muscles of his shoulders and neck are. He tries to relax and let go of the tension he’s holding. “You want to help me look for a place to live?”

“Sure,” Harry says, scooting closer when Louis pulls out his phone. 

They spend about an hour searching for rentals, but the list is long, and they decide to do it another day. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Over the next few weeks, Louis narrows the housing options down to three, but he wants Harry’s opinions. They have plans to meet up after work on Friday, but when he gets to Harry’s apartment, he’s not there, and when he pulls out his phone to call, he finds a text.

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Have to teach a class and won’t be off until 6:30  
  
**Harry:** Sorry! Miss you!   
  


Knowing that Niall’s still at the rec center too, Louis drives over, figuring he’ll bother him while Harry finishes up. Unfortunately, Niall’s on the phone and waves Louis away, leaving him no other option than to wander around unsupervised. He heads straight for the pool, walking around it to the hot tub, scaring a couple of his Junior Lifeguards when he sneaks up on them, and entering the therapy pool room to take a peek. 

That’s where he finds Harry, and that’s where his heart thumps in his chest, expanding to make room for the sheer volume of fondness he feels when he sees Harry teaching a swimming class to a bunch of preschoolers. 

He needs to sit down, which is okay because right in front of the pool is a convenient set of bleachers only about a third full of parents who are all watching the class as well. Louis fits right in. 

Harry has five little kids lined up, standing on the side of the pool, and Louis only partly listens to him giving them instructions. Instead, he grins at Harry’s rashguard, wondering why he decided to wear one in the pool today. 

“Okay, Naomi, ready?” Harry asks the tiniest little girl, but he has to stop and ask each of the other kids to take a step back from the edge, all of them excited to jump in, and too young to understand what could happen. “Okay, one more time, everybody. Do we swim alone?”

Four of the five call out, “No!” and Naomi shakes her head.

“Who do we swim with?” Harry asks.

A few of the kids shout, “Grown ups!” 

One little boy yells, “Mom!” while looking over at a woman who waves back and is, presumably, his mom.

Naomi waits until everyone is quiet, raises her voice, and says, “Mister Harry!”

“I’m a grown up, but I’m not always going to be there when it’s time to swim. Ms. Alicia will be back next week and you swim with her, don’t you?” Harry asks, and Naomi nods, but then she waves him closer, whispering in his ear. “Oh! Okay, go get your mommy. Walking feet!” 

Naomi walks as fast as she can to a woman sitting on the front row of the bleachers, and announces, “I have to pee pee!” 

Almost everyone giggles, parents and children, and Louis looks over, catching Harry’s eye. He winks at Louis before turning back to his charges. For the rest of the lesson, Louis is in a bit of a daze. Harry’s great with the class. He’s calm, patient, funny, and the kids seem to love him, even though he’s only substituting for their normal teacher. 

They finish jumping into the pool one at a time, holding Harry’s hands when they do it, and he pulls them out away from the edge, sinking into the water with them and showing them how to blow bubbles before helping them float on their backs all the way to the steps in the corner. Naomi returns just in time, and at the end of class, Harry has all five kids hold onto the side and kick their feet as hard as they can.

“Big splash! Kick! Kick! Kick!” Harry yells over the noise, looking up at the parents on the bleachers. He presses his hands together, holding them to his cheek, and tilting his head, miming sleep. After another moment, he blows his whistle, and the kicking slows to a stop. “Okay, kiddos! Next week Ms. Alicia will be back. You go home and practice blowing bubbles in the bathtub!”

Louis gets out of the way, leaving the therapy pool area and waiting on the bleachers by the employee locker room door. He waves as each kid makes their way past him to the family locker room, waiting while Harry puts away the kick boards and floating toys he used during class. 

“Hey,” Harry says, standing in front of the bleachers, water dripping off him onto the concrete pool deck.

Gradually, Louis lets his gaze travel over Harry’s body, lingering on the rashguard clinging to his chest. “Why are you wearing that?”

“This?” Harry asks, pulling the wet fabric away from his stomach. “Most of the parents want their kids to wear them at the beach, so I figured it makes it seem normal if I wear one in the pool.” 

“Ahh… Devious,” Louis says.

“Maybe I am,” Harry says, smirking at him. “You thinking about taking a swimming class?”

“Are you offering private lessons?” Louis asks, winking like an idiot.

Harry snorts, shoving Louis’ shoulder. “Let me shower and we can go.” 

While he’d rather follow Harry into the locker room, the rec center is much too busy, so he bothers Niall instead. 

“What are you doing here?” Niall asks when Louis leans into his office, hanging onto the top of the door jamb. 

“Waiting on—” Louis lets go of the door jamb and clears his throat. “Waiting for Harry. We’re supposed to, um, hang out.”

Niall snorts, lifting his hands and making air quotes as he says, “Hang out.”

“Stop it,” Louis says, shoving his hands in his pockets as he steps closer to the desk, scowling down at Niall. “We were going to eat dinner at his place and I was going to show him pictures of the places I’m thinking of renting. That’s hanging out.”

“You know I’m just giving you a hard time,” Niall says, jerking his thumb in the general direction of the pool. “I like Harry. You guys are cute together.”

“I haven’t been cute in forty years,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. 

“Bullshit,” Niall says. “I saw you in there watching Harry teach that class with that big, dopey grin on your face. Human equivalent of the heart eye emoji.”

“He’s good with the kids in the class,” Louis says with a shrug. “Of course I was smiling.”

“Right… Smiling,” Niall says, nodding knowingly. “You were absolutely not picturing you two having babies of your own.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Niall,” Louis says, lowering his voice. “We aren’t having babies. We’re not even— I’ll be forty-eight this year. Bo’s turning nineteen in March.”

“Oh! My apologies,” Niall says. “Forgot you’ve already been through menopause and can’t get pregnant again.”

“Somebody’s pregnant?” Harry asks, appearing in the doorway and making Louis jump. 

“Not Louis!” Niall gives his cheesiest smile and says, “You kids have fun now. Get out of here and let your Uncle Niall work.”

“What’s he talking about?” Harry asks when Louis steps into the hallway. 

“Just Niall being Niall,” Louis says, hoping Harry will drop it.

“Oh… I thought somebody was pregnant,” Harry says, clearly disappointed to be wrong. “Love babies.”

“Who doesn’t?” Louis asks, and Harry looks at him, quietly searching for something. 

“Steven,” Harry finally says, pushing the door open and holding it for Louis. “Before we got married, we talked a lot about adopting an older child, but when it came down to it, he didn’t want kids. He wanted a clone of himself.”

“Really?” Louis asks, leaning against Harry’s Jeep, not ready to get into his truck and spend the next few minutes apart. 

“I mean, not a real clone, but he was literally like ‘the kid must be a boy with blond hair and blue eyes’ and he started talking about how he didn’t want a kid with what he called ‘problems’ and I knew I didn’t want kids with him,” Harry says, exhaling and puffing his cheeks out. “That was the beginning of the end. Depressing to think about.”

“I didn’t know you wanted kids,” Louis says, thinking about how much more there is to learn about Harry. 

“Kind of gave up on that dream,” Harry says, pinching his lower lip and tugging on it. “I’m an awesome uncle.”

“I keep hoping Zayn and Liam’ll adopt some babies,” Louis says, pulling his keys from his pocket and stepping away from Harry’s Jeep. “I’ve already offered to babysit. But they keep getting older and they keep not having babies. I’m starting to think grandkids are my only hope.”

“Niall might have babies,” Harry says, and he’s right. If Niall will just settle down long enough. 

“So… My place, right?” Harry offers with a smile. “I have leftover lasagne.”

“Yeah. Looking forward to it,” Louis says, starting for his truck. “See you there?”

≈≈≈≈≈

On the short drive over, Louis can’t help but think about Harry’s desire for children, and if he’s standing in the way of that. Resentment bubbles up, seemingly out of nowhere, and he tries to swallow it down. He always thought he’d have lots of babies, but life worked out differently. Nothing to do about it now. Except that Harry tends to know what’s on his mind, sometimes before he consciously thinks about it. 

“I was thinking,” Harry says once they’re sitting at the counter, eating leftover lasagne. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but… I actually don’t know how to ask this without sounding rude.”

“Just ask,” Louis says.

“Okay, um… Did you and Bridget not want more kids?”

Louis freezes, forkful of lasagne halfway to his mouth. He sets it back down on the plate and Harry cringes. Laying his hand on Harry’s thigh, Louis squeezes and says, “Hey, no, don’t— It’s a valid question.”

“Sorry, I don’t really know where the lines are with… with your marriage and what you’re willing to talk about.”

Sighing, Louis turns on his stool. “Bridget and I were together for most of my life, Harry. Anything from my past is going to involve her, even if it’s indirectly. And I’m willing to talk about pretty much anything. But, to answer your question, yes, I wanted more kids. It was actually a, um… point of contention for a while when Bo was young. Bridget didn’t want to be pregnant again, which is understandable. She didn’t have an easy time of it. But whenever I’d bring up adoption, she’d…” Harry raises his eyebrows, blinking at him, clearly waiting for the rest. Frowning, Louis scratches his forehead. “I think it was harder for her than I realized back then.”

“Oh…” Harry says, rubbing lightly on the back of Louis’ arm. 

“Kind of feel like a selfish asshole,” Louis says. 

“That was what? Fifteen years ago?” Harry asks, and when Louis nods, he says, “Can’t change the past. All you can do is be better in the future, I think.”

“I could apologize,” Louis says. It might ease his guilt.

Harry huffs a laugh through his nose. “You could.”

“What’s so funny?” Louis asks.

“It’s not funny, really. It’s just… Like you said, you and Bridget were together for most of your life. Are you going to apologize for everything you did wrong over twenty-five years?”

“Thirty,” Louis corrects him without thinking. “Sorry.”

“Thirty, then. Jesus, Louis. When I think about all the dumb shit I did as a teenager…” Harry shakes his head, lips pressed together, fighting a smile. “It’s up to you, but you have to think about whether saying you're sorry is for your benefit or the other person’s.”

“That right there,” Louis says, poking him in the arm. “That’s the problem. This is why…”

“Yep,” Harry says. 

“This is why I need a therapist,” Louis says while Harry nods along. 

“I went to therapy after my divorce,” Harry admits. “Was a big help. At first, I didn’t want to move away because I was worried I was running from him, you know? In a way, I didn’t want to let him win.”

Louis rubs circles on his chest, hoping Harry thinks he has indigestion or something, and isn’t unnerved by the idea of what his life would be like if Harry’d never moved to Ocean Grove. “What changed your mind?”

“Figured out I was happy with everything else,” Harry explains. “I liked me, I liked my job, I liked everything. The only thing I didn’t like was the location. And at that point, it couldn’t really hurt to move. I was already divorced. Lost most of my friends over the course of my marriage anyway.”

“Do you miss anything about Crown Bay?” Louis asks, pushing his plate away, more interested in Harry than food. 

“The kids at the Y,” Harry answers quickly. “Some of them were in the after school program for years, so I’d gotten to know them. But the kids at the rec center are great, and I have a lot more freedom there. Like, at the Y, I was the Aquatics Director, and everything I did was pool related. Here, I have the same title, but when I interviewed, Niall asked if I’d like to be involved with anything else, so… I am.”

“Niall’s not overworking you, is he?” Louis asks, joking but also willing to threaten Niall’s very existence if he’s upsetting or inconveniencing Harry in any way.

“No,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ face with both hands and planting a smacking kiss on his lips. “You want to watch a movie or something?”

“Yeah, but first I want to show you these rentals,” Louis says, taking Harry’s hand in his. “I’ve narrowed it down, but I want your opinion.”

Harry raises one eyebrow. “You do?”

“Of course,” Louis says. He pulls out his phone, showing him the screen. “I haven’t seen any of them in person.”

Harry leans in and Louis tips his head to kiss his cheek, but Harry turns and meets his lips instead. “Show me?”

“Okay, first one’s a condo near Zayn and Liam’s place, third floor. Two bedrooms. Furnished. I’d have to buy a washer and dryer or use the laundry on property, which is like three buildings away from this one. But there’s a pool and tennis courts.”

“Do you play tennis?” Harry asks, and Louis reaches up, gently tracing the line between his eyebrows. 

“No,” Louis says, laughing and showing him the next place. “Big three bedroom house, unfurnished, and at the top of my price range. But it’s, like, right by the beach. And it has a yard. I liked having a yard, but I hate it at the same time, you know? Who needs all that grass? So much work. But it’s tempting because I could just walk to the beach.”

Tapping his fingertips on the counter, Harry says, “Unfurnished though, with it being so big… Do you think you’ll want to buy something eventually?”

Louis nods, showing him the last place. “Probably something like this, when I do. Two story townhouse, with two bedrooms upstairs and both have their own bathroom, patio in the back. Near the beach, but not as close as the house. But… How sick am I going to get of going up and down stairs?”

“Where’s the laundry?” Harry asks.

“Upstairs. Between the bedrooms.”

“I like the townhouse, especially if you think you might want to buy one later on. You should get a sense of what it’s like living with neighbors that close. My old place in Crown Bay was a similar set up. The stairs didn’t bother me.”

“Yeah? You like it?” Louis asks, skipping through the pictures of the townhouse. It’s hard to tell what it really looks like thanks to the fisheye lens the agent used. “I guess I’ll go look in person tomorrow.”

“Do you…” Harry pinches his lower lip, humming. “I’m off tomorrow, if you want me to come with you.”

He knows Harry's schedule now as well as he knows his own, and they were already planning to spend the day together. It’d be nice to have a second opinion. When Niall was looking for a house, Louis went with him and his realtor a few times, there to ask questions and mention things that Niall maybe didn’t think of. The rental agent isn’t going to assume he and Harry are together. 

“Yeah, you should come,” Louis says, squeezing Harry’s thigh. He stands and rounds the counter, grabbing their dishes. Might as well wash them now. “They said call and they’ll meet me there to show me the place.”

“If you get it, when do you move in?” Harry asks, following him into the kitchen.

“Soon. Like, next week?” They finish up the dishes, and settle on the couch. While Harry flips through his rom com selection, Louis watches. He grins, and says, “I can have you over to my place. Cook you dinner.”

“That’ll be interesting,” Harry says slowly, and Louis gasps.

“You think I’m going to poison you or something? I can cook,” Louis insists, poking him in the ribs and tickling him until he squeals. 

Harry shoves him and follows him as he topples over to the side, laying on top of Louis and grabbing his hands, holding them over his head and raising his eyebrows, movies forgotten. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“I don’t know… Looks like I’m in quite the predicament,” Louis says, twisting his hands free as he rocks his body sideways underneath Harry, sending them both crashing to the floor, Louis on top. He grips Harry’s wrists and pins them to the floor. “Well, well, well.”

Rising up, Harry meets Louis’ mouth, spreading his legs and Louis melts, settling on him, kissing him with an urgency he hasn’t allowed himself to feel these past few weeks. While they’ve spent time together, and they’ve kissed and touched, it’s never felt like it was leading somewhere. Or rather, it felt like it could, but Harry stopped it, stepping back, pulling away. Not this time, though. 

Harry doesn’t attempt to free his wrists, but Louis can’t hold them indefinitely, needing to touch him elsewhere, running his hands over Harry’s forearms, biceps, shoulders, chest. Leaving a trail of kisses down to his nipples, tugging them with his teeth. Harry arches into it, and Louis slides his hands along his ribs to his waist, dipping his fingertips beneath Harry’s sweatpants, asking for permission. 

“Bed,” Harry says, shoving at Louis’ shoulders, pushing until he gets up and helps Harry to his feet. Before Louis can move, Harry smacks his ass, repeating, “Go! Go! Go!”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Louis says, cackling when Harry sprints past him to the bedroom, tossing himself onto the bed and kicking off his sweatpants while Louis is still standing in the doorway. “Do you need me for this or…”

“Oh, um… No, not really,” Harry says, rolling over and reaching for his nightstand. He opens the drawer and sets lube and a condom on the table, dropping back onto the mattress, one hand already around his thickening cock. “I have a dildo, so if you’re not—”

“You do?” Louis asks, walking into the room and rounding the bed, peering into Harry’s nightstand drawer. “Is that what’s in the black velvet bag?”

“No,” Harry says, shutting the drawer. “That’s what it came in, but now it’s where I put the condoms. Thought it was swanky.”

“Swanky,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. He bites the corner of his lower lip. “What do you want to… do?”

“Ride you,” Harry says, eyes drifting to the growing bulge in Louis’ sweatpants. “Can I?”

“Like I’m going to say no,” Louis says, pushing his sweatpants and underwear down and kicking them off. He yanks his t-shirt over his head, and crawls overtop of Harry, stopping when they’re face to face, nudging their noses together. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Harry says, circling his arms around Louis’ neck. “Missed this.”

“Me too, baby,” Louis says, dipping down to kiss him again. 

“Can I do something?” Harry asks.

“Anything you want,” Louis says, kissing his chin. 

“Okay, um… Sit back against the pillows,” Harry says, and Louis follows orders, climbing off of him and arranging himself in the middle of the bed with the pillows stacked behind him. 

“What are you going to do?” Louis asks, spreading his legs when Harry picks up the lube. 

Shaking his head, Harry pushes Louis’ leg until he gets the hint and stretches them straight out in front of him. Harry pivots on one knee, and with his back to Louis, straddles his legs, looking over his shoulder and catching Louis’ eye. Slowly, Harry caresses his own thighs, hips, ass, but it’s not until he reaches down, slipping his fingers between his cheeks, that Louis understands what’s happening. 

Teasing Louis by teasing himself, Harry traces circles around his rim, barely pushing his fingertip inside until Louis lifts a hand, ready to help him. Once he slides one finger in, he begins working himself open quicker than Louis would, which he assumes is part of the reason Harry wants to do it in the first place. He almost immediately pushes a second finger inside, and Louis hisses, muscles clenching as he remembers the sting. But it doesn’t seem to bother Harry, who fucks two fingers in and out, stretching himself and fitting his ring finger alongside the other two. 

Watching Harry finger himself has Louis hard without even a touch, but he wants to touch, feel what Harry feels, so he leans forward, grabbing Harry’s hips and pulling him backwards into his lap. Harry’s fingers slip free as he falls, arms and legs going in all directions, and Louis holds him tight around his middle, trapping his own cock between their bodies. 

“I was trying to be sexy,” Harry says, and Louis can hear his pout even if he can’t see it. 

He sucks a kiss to the back of Harry’s shoulder, and says, “Don’t have to try.”

“I was going to ride you,” Harry says, still pouting, though Louis can see it as soon as Harry turns his head. 

“Okay, but can I touch?” Louis asks, reaching down between Harry’s legs, cupping his balls and inching his finger back. 

Nodding, Harry clambers off of him, handing Louis the lube, rolling onto his back and pulling Louis on top of him. Louis wastes no time coating his fingers, and sliding them between Harry’s legs, over his already stretched rim, and pushing them inside. He nips at Harry’s lower lip, kissing his jaw, his neck, his collarbones, while fucking him with two and then three fingers. 

Panting, Harry breaks their kiss, stretching his arm out and grabbing the condom off the nightstand. Impatiently, he asks, “Can I now?”

“Yes,” Louis says, taking the condom and setting himself up on the bed the way Harry wants him. He rolls the condom on and Harry strokes him with a slick hand, straddling him again, grip tight on Louis’ shoulder. “Are you going to let me do anything or am I just here for show?”

Harry’s eyes snap to his and he says, “Hold your dick for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Louis says, circling his fingers around the base of his cock. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, smirking as he scoots backwards. The head of Louis’ dick touches his ass and he lowers himself so that it slides between his cheeks. Louis watches Harry’s cock sway with his movements, wanting to touch it, still fascinated by how attracted he is to Harry. He rubs his free hand up Harry’s thigh, thumb grazing his balls, drawing Harry’s attention. He laughs and says, “You’re not helping. Let go.”

Harry holds Louis’ dick just below the head, pressing it against his rim, shifting his hips until he finds the right angle and sits, forcing the first few inches past the initial tightness. Louis gasps, digging his fingertips into the muscles of Harry's thighs, fighting the desire to thrust up or force Harry down, wanting to be surrounded at once by the heat of his body. 

He lets his hands wander over Harry’s stomach and chest, thumbing at his nipples and pinching them when the skin pebbles. Inch by inch, Harry takes the rest of his cock, leaning in for a kiss when he finally sits in Louis’ lap. 

“You okay?” Harry asks, circling his hips and making Louis moan. 

Nodding his answer, Louis pulls him into another kiss, running his palms over Harry’s arms and down his back, cupping his ass and feeling where his dick disappears into Harry’s body. He lifts his hips, wanting more, and Harry sits up, using Louis’ shoulders for leverage, and begins to ride. 

He starts slowly, working circles and figure eights on Louis’ dick, and Louis loses himself in the heat of Harry’s body while Harry takes what he wants, rocking back and forth, fucking himself on Louis’ cock until he seems to tire from the effort. 

Louis meets his movements, holding tight to Harry’s hips as he grinds down, batting Harry’s hand away when he reaches for his cock, and replacing it with his own. He strokes him slow until Harry starts to ride him faster, bouncing in his lap, and then he speeds up, wanting Harry to come first. He does, muscles clenching around Louis’ dick, and Louis bucks underneath him, fucking him through his orgasm as he spills over Louis’ fist and onto his stomach. Harry falls forward, mouthing at Louis’ neck, and Louis pistons his hips, chasing his release. He comes, flooding the condom, trembling under Harry’s weight. 

“Baby? You have to get off me if you want me to clean us up,” Louis says, and Harry groans. He sits up, Louis’ softening cock slipping out of him, and crawls over, rolling onto his back beside him. Louis laughs, hurrying to the bathroom to find a washcloth. After disposing of the condom, he quickly cleans himself up and returns to gently wipe the lube from Harry’s sensitive skin. 

“You’re staying?” Harry asks when Louis gets up to take the dirty washcloth back to the bathroom.

“Yeah, of course. Where’d you think I was going?” Louis sits on the edge of the bed, and when Harry shrugs, not meeting his eyes, Louis stretches out on the bed beside him, and says, “Not getting rid of me tonight, baby.”

≈≈≈≈≈

“You weren’t kidding,” Harry says, cupping his hand to his ear. “The beach is right there. I can hear the ocean.”

“I know,” Louis says, trying not to whine. Noticing how close he’s standing to Harry, he takes a couple of steps backwards, checking over his shoulder, but Christine, the rental agent, is nowhere to be seen. “This is too much house for me.”

“You’d either wind up living in a mostly empty house or spending all your money on furniture,” Harry says, nodding and following him towards the front of the house where they find Christine waiting.

“What do we think?” Christine asks, spreading her arms wide and looking over the yard. “That large en-suite with the double sinks? The walk-in closets?”

“I don’t really need that much room,” Louis says, shifting sideways to put a little more space between him and Harry. 

Christine nods, looking to Harry and asking, “What about you, Harry? You both enjoy the beach. And it’s very close by.”

“I’m, um…” Harry presses his lips together, scratching at the scruff on his chin. 

It takes Louis a moment to catch up, and the back of his neck heats when he does because he thought they were behaving platonically. He’s been going out of his way to not touch Harry or stand too close, but maybe he hasn’t done a good job if Christine’s assuming they’re living together. He doesn’t disabuse her of the notion, but he does steer the conversation elsewhere. 

“I think  _ I’m _ going to like the townhouse best,” Louis says, “Just have to see it first.”

By Christine’s expression, she still thinks they’re together, but now she also thinks Louis is a controlling asshole. He sighs, walking to his truck behind Harry. 

The townhouse is on the end of a building of five units, side by side. She unlocks the door and leads them in. Just inside the door is an alcove which is obviously intended to house a television or entertainment center, and Louis wonders as they walk through the downstairs, if every one of these townhouses is set up the same. He doesn’t have a TV, something he didn’t think about until he started looking for his own place, but he’s not too concerned about buying one. In fact, the only furniture he owns is his mom’s old bedroom set from the guest room, and he plans to put that in the second bedroom for Bo. 

“Would it be weird to not have furniture downstairs for a while?” Louis asks, opening the fridge and staring at the empty shelves. There’s space for a dining table where a brass light fixture hangs low, and he’ll have to shorten the chain or put something under it unless he wants to whack his head on it over and over again. 

“Would you eat standing up in the kitchen or upstairs in bed?” Harry asks, and Louis can’t tell if he’s joking. Maybe he’s not. 

“I’d probably get some stools like you have at your place,” Louis says, tapping his fingers on the counter and watching Christine pretend not to listen to their conversation. “Eat here, I guess. I’d eventually get a table, but… I have to get a bed first. And I don’t want to skimp on the mattress.”

“Bedrooms?” Harry asks, peeking around to look up the stairs. 

“Two large bedrooms, each with its own full bathroom,” Christine says, pointing towards the stairs. “Go ahead up. I’ll stay down here.”

“Okay, let’s check them out,” Louis says, starting up the stairs.

Halfway up, Harry pinches his bum, and Louis smacks his hands away, scowling back over his shoulder.

“Sorry, it’s right there in my face,” Harry whispers, not sounding at all apologetic. “Are both bedrooms the same?”

“Not sure,” Louis says, opening the double louvered doors. “Ahh… Laundry. How the hell do you get a washer and dryer up here?”

“I’d say you leave it to the delivery guys,” Harry says, stepping into the front bedroom. Louis follows, opening the blinds on the large window to look outside. “What are you thinking?”

“This whole place is very clean,” Louis says, laughing and turning around to find Harry right behind him. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Harry says, crossing his arms and biting his lower lip. “I made sure she wasn’t watching before I pinched your bum. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Louis shakes his head, looking down at the vacuum marks on the carpet. “Surprised me, that’s all.”

“Hey,” Harry says, holding his arms open until Louis steps closer. He loops his arms around Louis’ waist, leans in and kisses him sweetly, then pulls back, rubbing their noses together. “Like I said, it’s okay if you’d rather not be out right now.”

“I know,” Louis says, lifting up and kissing Harry’s forehead. “I’m trying to get used to the idea.”

Harry hums. “So this is your new place?”

“Looks like it,” Louis says, stepping back and walking over to peek inside the closest closet. It’s more than big enough for him and there are two in that bedroom. “I guess I should start shopping for a bed, hmm?”

“Do I get to try out mattresses with you?” Harry asks. 

“If you want,” Louis says, closing the closet door. “Let’s go tell Christine I’ll take this place.”

≈≈≈≈≈

Moving in takes no time at all, considering he doesn’t have much to move, and Louis decides to sleep in the guest room until he gets a bed of his own. He’ll need it in case Bo decides to stay with him before Thanksgiving. 

They’re still not speaking. Texting almost every day, but her responses are short and those messages are always initiated by Louis. She’s already told him she’s not planning to see him when she’s home for four days in October. She and Bridget are going somewhere, just the two of them, because Bo’s fall break coincides with Bridget’s birthday. It seems fair, even though he misses her terribly. 

Over the course of a few weeks, Louis buys a bed, a couch, and a small coffee table, plus two stools for the kitchen counter. All by himself. It sounds silly when he thinks of it that way, but almost every piece of furniture purchased during his marriage was weighed and measured with a list of pros and cons. 

There are two dressers with his mom’s old bedroom set and only room for one in Bo’s bedroom, so he takes one of those for himself. There’s not space enough for much else, but it feels more like a home with a dresser to put his few framed photos on, and a coffee table to kick up his feet even if it’s to watch his laptop instead of a television. 

The bed is the best part, though. He debated over the size, but eventually went with a queen because he either sleeps alone or with Harry, and if he’s with Harry, they’re practically snoring on top of each other, legs tangled together with Harry’s head on his chest, or spooning, or sometimes he wakes up draped over Harry’s back while Harry snoozes on his stomach. 

Until he bought the bed, he and Harry were only spending a couple of nights a week together at Harry’s apartment. It wouldn’t feel right sleeping in the second bedroom, in Bo’s room, in the bed he intends for her, with his boyfriend. 

When Harry called him that months ago, in the middle of rightfully yelling at him for being a jealous dickhead, the word lodged itself in his brain, and the more time they spend together, the better he gets to know Harry, the nearer the term moves to the front of his mind, to the tip of his tongue, desperate to be said out loud. It’s silly, really. He’s a forty-seven, almost forty-eight-year-old man, with life saving ocean rescues in the double digits, and more experience in dangerous water than anyone he knows, but the thought of calling Harry his boyfriend makes him feel like he’s drowning. Rejection is a frightening prospect. 

He doesn’t actually believe that Harry would reject him. At least, not initially. It’s long term that he worries about because, as pathetic as it is, he knows he’s falling for Harry, and falling hard. 

Love is the truly terrifying possibility. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Louis’ first therapy appointment is embarrassing. He struggles even to make eye contact with his therapist while he tells her why he’s there, though she’s aware from his succinct email. She tells him his situation is unusual, which he already knows, but when she lists her reasons why, they aren’t what he expected to hear. 

Usually, people who have affairs don't seek counseling on their own. Usually, people who have affairs don’t blame themselves. Usually, people who have affairs blame their partners for their relationships not being enough. Usually, people who have affairs aren’t simultaneously going through a sexuality crisis. Usually, people who have affairs aren’t interested in fixing what they don’t see as broken. 

She asks him to tell her about the affair from the very beginning. He stops at the point where he came out to Bridget and asked for a divorce. He doesn’t mention Bo seeing them kiss in the parking lot. The hour is up anyway. It’s convenient timing, because he doesn’t want to talk about Harry yet, though he isn’t certain why. 

Over the next few appointments, he tells her about Harry, but only because she asks. Bluntly. Faced with the question of whether he loves Harry, he answers reflexively that he does. It’s harder to answer any further questions when he admits that he hasn’t told Harry about the depth of his feelings. 

And he can’t help but think he shouldn’t be there already. Not now, when his divorce isn’t likely to be finalized for at least another couple of months, when his daughter is barely speaking to him, when they’ve only had one lowball offer on the house, when his relationship with Harry isn’t even public knowledge. They’ve yet to go on a proper date.

Despite how often they touch when they’re at Harry’s apartment, or Louis’ townhouse, or in one of their vehicles, when they’re out and about, it hasn’t escaped Louis’ notice that he stops himself when his hand drifts towards Harry’s lower back or that Harry holds onto his phone almost constantly, like he needs to keep his hands occupied. 

Regardless of what Louis’ should be feeling this early in his relationship with Harry, he’s all in. Hook, line, and sinker. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	13. Chapter 13

≈≈≈≈≈

“Do you want to go fishing?” Louis asks, lying in the new hammock on his patio, trying to think of anything he can use to fill his time over Thanksgiving weekend now that Bo definitely isn’t coming to stay with him. 

“Depends,” Harry says. He drags the little metal table closer to the hammock and lights a citronella candle, then carefully climbs into the hammock beside Louis, both of them wiggling around. “Do you mean deep sea fishing or surf fishing or fishing off the pier or something else?”

“Hadn't really thought about it. Whatever you want,” Louis says, finally getting comfortable with Harry’s arm around him, resting his head on Harry’s chest.

“Not deep sea fishing, then,” Harry says decisively. 

“Okay,” Louis says, slipping his feet between Harry’s legs. “I don’t know if you have plans for Thanksgiving, but I was thinking we could go then.”

“Oh, um… I do, actually.”

“Are you going to Tennessee? I thought you weren’t visiting your mom until Christmas,” Louis says, trying unsuccessfully not to pout. 

“No, I’ll be here,” Harry says, combing his fingers through Louis’ hair. “I’m working. Sort of. Though, it’s more like a volunteer thing. I think Niall’s planning to help. You can come too, if you want.”

“Maybe,” Louis says, turning his head and burying his face in Harry’s armpit. “Tell me more about it. I’m not volunteering to clean the steam room or anything.”

Harry laughs, scratching the back of Louis’ hair, and starts to explain, “A lot of the parents of the kids in the after school program have to work on Thanksgiving, but the schools are closed, so we found something for them to do. Keeps them busy, makes sure they’re fed and warm, and it’s fun. They get to give someone else a good day.”

≈≈≈≈≈

Harry’s Thanksgiving plans don’t involve cleaning, at least not directly, though they’ll have some cleaning up to do afterwards. Louis doesn’t mind. 

“I did something similar in Crown Bay,” Harry says, closing the door to the rec center shuttle bus and waving at Niall and the kids inside. “And my old boss promised to continue the tradition when I left. He’s supposed to send me pictures later.”

“Can’t believe you’re letting me have shotgun, Niall,” Louis says, climbing into the passenger seat. 

“Harry promised to buy me a Frappuccino every day next week,” Niall says with a shrug. 

“That’s like thirty bucks!” Louis reaches back to smack Niall’s knee. “Don't take advantage.”

“It was his idea,” Niall says, pointing at Harry as he slides behind the wheel. “Harry, tell your boyfriend not to hit me.”

The entire shuttle bus goes silent. 

More than likely, the deafening din of nearly two dozen kids continues as loudly as before, but Louis’ blood pounds in his ears. There’s nothing wrong with what Niall said, except that he and Harry have yet to label this thing between them. He wants the kids on the bus to know it’s okay to be gay, and he wants to feel comfortable enough to model a good relationship, but damn if he can’t stop imagining someone’s parents turning up their noses, or worse, saying something horribly homophobic to their kid. 

He feels a little lightheaded until Harry says, “Lou, don’t hit Niall. He might fire me.”

The noise of the bus comes rushing back, the heaviness in his gut feels a little lighter, and the kids in the back continue on as if nothing happened. Louis wipes his brow, forcing a smile, and turning around in his seat. “Niall, if you fire Harry, I’ll have to— Let’s just say, it’ll be more painful than that time in high school when you bleached your hair and it gave you that burning, itchy rash all over your head and hands.”

“Harsh,” Niall says, flicking Louis’ ear, but Harry grins at him, and that’s all that matters for now.

There are three assisted living facilities in the area, and they’ll visit them all. It’s the perfect way to keep his mind off of Bo and the time he’s missing with her. It’s still in the back of his head, but it’s sharing space with his worry that Niall might accidentally out them. When they arrive at the first place, Brighton Park Senior Center, Louis pulls Niall aside while Harry’s busy lining up the kids on the sidewalk and going over the rules.

“Hey, um…” Louis checks that Harry isn’t paying attention, leaning in and speaking quietly to Niall. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it earlier, but Harry and I… We hadn't exactly said we were, you know…”

“What?” Niall wrinkles his nose, tipping his head to the side. 

“Boyfriends. Dating. We hadn't said—”

“But you are,” Niall says, turning to look at Harry. 

“I know that, but— but not everyone does, okay?” Louis scratches the back of his neck, and says, “I’d just rather you keep it to yourself. Don’t mention it or like, talk about it. Especially today. I don’t know any of the people at the senior center and I don’t want the first thing they know about me to be that I’m gay.”

“Okay… Not a problem.” Niall nods slowly, pointing to the kids on the sidewalk. “We should get going.”

“Right. Thanks,” Louis says, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. “Sorry if I was rude or—”

“It’s fine, Louis,” Niall says, slinging his arm over Louis’ shoulder. “But for the record, if anyone talks shit about you for being gay, I’m kicking their ass.”

“These are elderly people, Niall,” Louis says.

“Even better. One easy punch.” Punching the air, Niall says, “I’ll take ’em down.”

There’s really nothing for Louis to be concerned about. The kids play bingo with the residents, and do a sort of talent show. Some of them sing, some of them dance, a couple of the kids play piano, and Harry juggles. He’s quite good at it, at least Louis thinks so.

That night, he tries to teach Louis how to juggle using three similarly sized bottles of lube. It’s a failed endeavor, and he somehow spills lube on his brand new sheets, but it ends with orgasms and kisses, and the word boyfriend still echoing in Louis’ ears.

≈≈≈≈≈

In early December, Bo texts to let Louis know that she’s planning on spending most of her time on break at Mikey’s place, that she doesn’t need him to drive up and bring her home at the end of the semester because Bridget and Mikey will both be there, but that she’ll see him on his birthday. He’s being punished, clearly, and he deserves it, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Especially when it’s the first text she’s sent that isn’t in response to one from him. Although, those aren’t fun either.

Bo-Bo  
  
**Bo:** So I’ll see you on your bday  
  
**Louis:** Ok. I was hoping to see you before that   
  
**Bo:** I was hoping not to have to split my holidays  
  


For once, Louis leaves a text from Bo unanswered. 

The court date for the divorce hearing falls on the Thursday afternoon before Bo comes home for winter break, and maybe that has something to do with her decision to spend the holiday with her mom. Bridget’s had a hard time with Christmas ever since her parents split up, and when her dad died, things only got worse, so he rationalizes Bo’s choice. After all, it makes sense. 

Louis’ lawyer told him that it’s not necessary for him to wear a suit to the hearing, but when Louis asked what he was planning to wear, he laughed and said, “A suit.” 

The only suit Louis owns is fairly old and navy blue, but it fits him well, regardless of its age. All dressed up with a tie around his neck, he feels like he’s on his way to a funeral. Possibly this is because funerals are the only reason he’s had to wear it in recent years. The sense of dread that’s been building inside him as the court date approached might have something to do with it. 

All told, from stepping through the doors of the courthouse to taking off his jacket in the parking lot before climbing back into the truck, the hearing takes less than twenty minutes. Still, his hands shake as he turns the key in the ignition, and he finds himself wiping away tears while he drives. 

He didn’t anticipate the complex mix of feelings that would flood his system once the divorce was made official, and on top of things with Bo, it’s too much. For once, he’s glad Harry’s at work when he’s not so he can go home and wallow. 

With his suit hung back up in his closet, Louis climbs into his brand new bed, and pulls the blankets over his head. He wakes a few hours later to his doorbell and makes his way downstairs with the comforter wrapped around him, too lazy to put on clothes just to answer the door. 

“Hey,” Louis says, shuffling back out of the way so Harry can get inside. 

“It’s getting cold out. I’m going to have to start wearing a coat,” Harry says, lifting up the paper bag in his hand. “Thai food. Come on. I know you haven’t eaten today.”

“How’d you know that?” Louis asks, following him into the kitchen, suddenly aware of how hungry he is. 

“I pay attention,” Harry says, dropping the bag on the counter and motioning for Louis to sit. He grabs plates and silverware, sitting on the stool beside Louis. “When you’re stressed or upset, you forget to eat. Or lose your appetite.”

“Oh,” Louis says, adjusting his comforter and taking the container of soup that Harry passes him. 

“Lou, I know you didn’t invite me over, but I also know what today was,” Harry says, splitting the order of pad thai onto their plates. “And it hasn’t been that long since my divorce. I remember how shitty I felt when it was finalized.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, then quickly shakes his head. “I mean, I… I wasn’t thinking. What’d you do?”

“Went to the liquor store, bought an expensive bottle of tequila, drank too much, got very sick, spent the next two days in bed feeling sorry for myself,” Harry says, holding up one finger. He rummages through the paper bag to find another, smaller paper bag. Raising his eyebrows, he pulls out a fifth of tequila and sets the bottle on the table. “Bought it for the pink label.”

Louis snorts and rolls his eyes, leaning across his soup to kiss Harry’s smirk. “I’m not getting wasted.”

“You’re off tomorrow,” Harry says, peeling off the plastic around the lid and popping the cork. He sniffs it and his eyes go wide. “And so am I, thankfully.”

“I haven’t, um…” Louis clears his throat. “I haven’t had tequila since that night in Hatteras.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, but then understanding dawns, and the smile drops off his face. “Fuck.”

“No, baby, it’s fine!” Louis rushes out, reaching for the bottle. “I… I know it’s kind of messed up to say, especially today, but that night was… I had so much fun with you that night. You were so set on teaching me about tequila and I didn’t learn a thing. Couldn’t stop staring at your mouth.”

Pursing his lips and scrunching his nose, Harry gets up and carries the tequila to the kitchen, returning with two small glasses. “See? I told you you’d need these. Now, sip.”

“Two of them, yes,” Louis says, picking up his glass and gently knocking it against Harry’s. “I’m never going to need all twelve.”

“You say that now,” Harry says, sipping his tequila and swirling it around the glass. “Wait until I break the other ten.”

“Do I have to get drunk?” Louis asks, taking a drink. It’s not bad, but it’s not his thing. “You know what this reminds me of? My grandma trying to teach me to drink scotch while we played bridge.”

“Louis! A seventeen-year-old scotch drinker?” Harry laughs, throwing his head back, and Louis is distracted by the line of his throat. 

“No, she never converted me,” Louis says, reaching over and trailing the tip of his finger down the side of Harry’s neck. “Back then it was… Shit. Some clear fake beer. Zima! God, I forgot about that stuff.”

“That’s disgusting, Louis,” Harry says, looking like a frog trying not to laugh. 

“You can’t keep a straight face,” Louis says, tapping Harry’s nose. “You liked it. Was it lemon flavored? Like Mike’s Hard Lemonade? I honestly can’t remember.”

“I think it was citrus, but like a hint? I don’t know, but I have bad memories associated with Zima.”

_ “Bad _ bad memories or funny bad memories that you’re going to tell me and use to cheer me up?” Louis takes a sip of tequila and grins. 

“Okay, okay,” Harry says, sliding Louis’ plate over and stacking it with his, taking another sip of tequila. “I was sixteen. Very underage. And my friends got me a six-pack of Zima because I absolutely refused to drink Bud Light. We were camping in the woods near my girlfriend’s house.”

“Girlfriend?” Louis asks, legitimately surprised. 

“I was sixteen in the deep south,” Harry says. “Anyway, we were just outside of town, and her house was in this newer neighborhood and we set up tents and had a fire and everything in this undeveloped area. Well, I’d had three whole Zimas and I was drunk. Everyone started pairing off and disappearing in different directions, and Brooke plopped herself in my lap and started kissing me. I didn’t even have time to freak out because all the sudden there was shouting and lights and someone yelled ‘Cops! Run!’ and we ran.”

“Oh my god,” Louis says, hand over his mouth to try to contain his laughter. “Did they catch you? Harry Styles did you get arrested?”

Harry shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, it wasn’t the police. It was Brooke’s older brother and his friends, but when we took off through the woods, Brooke  _ left me _ and went home, and I couldn’t find my friends. It was awful. I wound up walking like three miles to a gas station, called my mom, and she picked me up.”

“What did you tell her?” Louis asks, worried for sixteen-year-old Harry. 

“The truth,” Harry says, and Louis cackles. “I cried and I told her how scared I was, and she tried to comfort me, but that lasted all of five seconds before she burst out laughing at me just like you're doing now. Didn’t have another drop of alcohol until my twenty-first birthday.”

After he catches his breath, Louis asks, “Really?” 

“Yep,” Harry says, tipping his glass back and swallowing the rest of his tequila like a shot. “Now, are you feeling better?”

“A little, yeah,” Louis says, finishing his tequila. “Thanks, baby.”

“Welcome,” Harry says, pushing his chair back. They work together to do the dishes, and Louis bundles Harry into his comforter with him on the couch, wrapping it around them. 

“I think I’m more bothered by Bo avoiding me than the rest of it,” Louis admits, stretching out on top of Harry and burying his face in Harry’s neck. “All this planning for her to come stay and she’s not going to. I haven’t seen her since… since that day.”

“Sorry, Lou,” Harry says, rubbing his hands over Louis’ back. “Hate that I won’t be here for Christmas, but I promised my mom.”

“I wouldn’t want you to miss Christmas with your mom,” Louis lies. He wouldn’t  _ ask  _ Harry to skip Christmas, but he certainly wouldn’t complain if he decided to stay and keep him company.

“I told you, she said you’re welcome to come,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to Louis’ ear. Louis shakes his head. He doesn’t want to be a burden or Harry’s last minute plus one at a family holiday. “Okay, so… What if we went somewhere next week?”

“Where?” Louis mutters into Harry’s neck, lips dragging against his skin. 

“Outer Banks? We could rent a house, have a fire on the beach, surf. I’ve never seen you in a wetsuit,” Harry says, humming appreciatively. 

“Okay, yeah,” Louis says, lifting up to look Harry in the eye. “Thank you.”

Harry shrugs like it’s not a big deal that he’s offering to take Louis away from everything that’s been so heavy on his mind, and Louis kisses him. They fall asleep like that, cocooned in Louis’ comforter on the couch, but sometime in the middle of the night, Harry wakes him up and they stumble up the stairs to get some proper sleep in Louis’ bed, tequila and plans to drink away his sorrows forgotten.

≈≈≈≈≈

It’s not as simple as waking up the next day and moving on, starting over newly divorced. For one thing, they still haven’t sold the house. For another, Louis still feels like shit. Therapy helps some, but he still feels guilty and it’s hard to let go, especially since he won’t be able to see his therapist again until after the new year. It doesn’t make sense, but it’s like another rejection on the heels of Bo’s messages about splitting the holidays, and he feels like a baby because he doesn’t want to be alone on Christmas. Bo offering to spend his birthday with him seems more like an obligation than a choice made willingly, and the last thing he wants to be is a burden to his own daughter. He stops texting her as often, hoping that she’ll come around and text him first. Juvenile, probably, but it hurts more and more when she doesn’t respond or replies in what he can’t help but interpret as a snarky manner.

The few days leading up to their trip to the Outer Banks are full, both of them working and not seeing as much of each other, and because of the last minute nature of the vacation, they were unable to find anything but a hotel room to stay in. Louis was looking forward to having a house or cottage on the beach where they could hole up and just live for a few days. Instead they’ve reserved a room at an inn that’s close to the beach, but has a view of all of the houses between them and the ocean. 

Louis doesn’t complain. Harry’s excited about it, and he does want to go. It’s been years since he’s been anywhere with decent waves in the winter, and at least he has that to look forward to. 

They take Harry's Jeep, switching off about halfway there, so that Louis is the one to drive them onto the ferry. It’s cold enough for a coat, but Louis leaves his in the car, zipping up his sweatshirt and pulling the hood tight around his face. He shivers, leaning against the railing at the bow, checking his phone again to find no new messages from Bo.

“Here,” Harry says, draping Louis’ coat over his shoulders. 

Looking out at the water and the strip of land as they slowly move across the sound, Harry tugs his beanie down over his ears. He nudges Louis with his elbow and says, “Penny for your thoughts.”

Louis shakes his head, huffing a quiet laugh that gets lost in the wind. “They aren’t worth that much.” 

It’s easier to make a joke than to say he’s afraid he traded his close relationship with Bo for the freedom to be himself and he doesn’t know if it was worth it. That sometimes he thinks he would take it all back, erase Harry from his life, to exist in ignorance, dull, but not unhappy, rather than live in this limbo, happy and sad at the same time. He could tell Harry that he often wonders what it’s like to be gay because he isn’t. Not really. He’s secretly gay. Gay where no one else knows. The opposite of proud. Scared and ashamed of that fear. 

“Colder than I thought it’d be,” Louis says instead, nodding towards the Jeep. He climbs in the passenger side, and when the ferry docks, Harry drives them off the boat onto the island. 

The inn where they’re staying is on the other end of the island, about a twenty minute drive from the dock. Louis keeps fairly quiet, hands balled into fists inside the pocket of his hoodie, ignoring Harry tapping his fingers on the center console, pretending he doesn’t know that means he wants to hold Louis’ hand.

With only two floors and outside entrances to each room, it’s more of an old fashioned motel than an inn. They park in front of the office, what looks like a small house beside, but separate from the inn. Maybe the owners live there. That seems likely when he ushers Harry inside and the people behind the reception desk appear to be an elderly married couple, both of them white haired with stooped shoulders and matching gold bands. 

“Hello, young men,” the woman says, sidling up next to her husband. “How can we help you?”

“Hi,” Harry says, reaching across the desk to shake hands. “We’re checking in. Should have a reservation under Styles.”

“Yes, yes,” the man says, pointing at a log book, then squinting at the screen of an ancient desktop computer. “Idiotic machine. Hold on a minute.”

Louis sneaks a look at Harry, who seems amused by the couple, and willing to wait, whatever the holdup. He rests his hands on the desk, leaning forward to see if he can read the screen and asks, “Is there a problem?”

“No, dear,” the woman says, patting his hand. “We’re just switching you over to a different room. You’ll need two beds. Somehow the system has you in a room with one.”

“Oh, um…” Harry widens his eyes, lips pressed together to hide his smile. 

“Thanks!” Louis interrupts, knocking his knuckles on the desk. “Wouldn’t want that.”

Beside him, Harry goes silent and stiff, giving a single, quick nod. A moment later, the woman hands him an envelope with the room number written on it in loopy cursive, and they leave the office, the old man still muttering curses at the computer as the door swings closed. 

Harry doesn’t speak. They get back in the Jeep and he drives them around to the back of the inn, parking by the stairs nearest to their room. Neither of them brought much, and they carry everything, including their surfboards, up to the room in one trip. 

The door clicks shut and before Louis can set his bag down, Harry says, “I wasn’t thinking when I made the reservation.”

“I— It’s fine,” Louis says, dropping his bag on the floor. “I probably should’ve shut up and let you handle it.”

“You had every right to say whatever you wanted. I know you’re not one hundred percent comfortable being out, especially around people you don’t know,” Harry says. Grimacing, Louis turns away, walking to the window and opening the curtains. “Louis, talk to me, please.”

“I don’t like people talking about me,” Louis says, still facing the window. “I hate the thought of being a piece of gossip. Of someone whispering about me when I leave a room. It’s the worst—” He stops, thinking of Bo and their deteriorating relationship. “Well, it’s not the  _ worst _ part of my divorce, but it’s up there.”

“Nobody likes to feel like people are talking shit behind their backs,” Harry says, and Louis can hear the mattress squeak as he sits down. 

“It’s not the same,” Louis says, turning around and leaning against the window, the cool glass giving him chills. “I don’t know how to explain. It’s not even about being gay. It’s because I cheated on my wife. It feels like— like people know that I did this horrible thing and they’re all judging me for it. Those people downstairs? They don’t know you or me or Bridget or my past, but I— It’s connected in my head. The shame for what I did. It’s linked with being gay and I don’t know how to separate them.”

“When we… Not the first time—and not that blow job either because I was so pissed off that night—but when you followed me into the locker room that day, it felt like… It was like you’d made the decision to pursue me. And back then, I thought you were just looking to get laid. Thought you were a real asshole, actually. But knowing what I know now, I can’t understand… Why? Did you not think about the possibility of getting caught?”

Louis shakes his head and then nods, taking a step towards the closest bed and sitting on the edge. “I didn’t think it would happen. I knew it could, but I didn’t think— I thought I could end it before it went too far.”

“It was just physical for you,” Harry says, and Louis can see him in his peripheral vision, nodding, lower lip caught between his teeth. 

“No,” Louis says, pulling his feet up on the bed, sitting cross-legged. “I wanted it to be. I might’ve even thought it was at the time, but it wasn’t.”

“Then what does ‘too far’ mean? Because you had me over to your house, Louis. Your wife  _ hugged me.” _

“Ex-wife,” Louis corrects him, startling himself with the truth. 

“She was your wife at the time,” Harry says, clenching his jaw. “And I’m the one who ended things. Not you. You… You tricked me. You charmed me into your hotel room. And I… Did you just want to get fucked? Know what it was like? Jesus.”

“Why are you bringing this up now?” Louis asks, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest. “It’s been months. I thought we were starting over.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up, Louis. Waiting for you to follow through with whatever you’re talking about in therapy. Waiting for you to be ready to talk to me,” Harry says, falling onto his back, raking his hands through his hair. He rolls onto his side, eyebrows raised, waiting.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” Louis throws the pillow to the floor and stands up. “I don’t want to talk to anyone about any of that. I hate that I did it, okay? I hate the way I treated Bridget and the way I treated you and I hate myself for lying and just  _ being _ the person that I was all summer. I’m not him! I’m not a monster! My own daughter hates me.”

“Louis,” Harry whispers into the ringing silence, and Louis glares at him, wanting to hate him, too. 

When he sees the tears in Harry’s eyes ready to fall, it takes the wind out of his sails. “I wouldn’t think of anyone or anything else when I was with you. I couldn’t. It was like tunnel vision. You filled my senses and my thoughts and— It was only when I was away from you that I felt guilty. Not even that. The guilt would seep in, but I’d push it away until I went home to Bridget and this wave of shame would crash over me. I’d see you again and it would recede. But I’m sorry I kept doing it. I am.”

“Louis,” Harry says again. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not! It’s literally not. It’s the opposite of okay,” Louis insists, throwing his hands in the air. “Look at me, Harry. I’m clearly not okay.”

“Okay…” Harry drags the word out, then says, “I meant to say that it  _ will be. _ And  _ I’m _ sorry. I should’ve brought this up a long time ago instead of doing it like this. I knew you were… struggling, I guess? And I let it be because I didn’t want to upset you, which I’ve now done.”

“You shouldn’t apologize,” Louis says, picking up the pillow from the floor and tossing it onto the bed. He brushes his hair off his forehead, anger fading to make room for anxiety, wishing he could run and hide from his feelings and from Harry. 

“Why not?” Harry asks, patting the mattress in front of him.

Louis shakes his head, and says, “Because you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did. I let us get this far into a relationship without ever talking about the things you did that hurt me. I put my own feelings aside because I didn’t want to push you away, and I…” Harry takes a deep breath. “I resent you for it.”

“Oh,” Louis says, anger building again.

“I can see you trying to make that your fault, so stop it,” Harry says, patting the mattress again. “Lay with me. Talk while cuddling.”

“But you’re mad at me,” Louis says, arms crossed, frowning down at him. Harry shrugs, reaching for him and catching the fabric of his jeans in his fist. He tugs and Louis gives in, crawling onto the bed, keeping his eyes focused on the pillow instead of Harry’s face. 

Hooking his finger under Louis’ chin, Harry says, “One of the reasons I kept this up, um… when I knew I shouldn’t… Watching you teaching during Junior Lifeguards, how patient you are with the kids, how kind you are to others—” Louis scoffs and Harry presses his thumb against Louis’ lips, shutting him up. “When we first met, you were so good to me, helping me with my stage fright and calming me down. Being around you made me feel warm. It still does. The more time I spent with you, the harder it was to try to stay away because I got to see you with your friends and with Bo—”

“She hates me,” Louis says, Harry’s thumb still on his lips.

“She’s disappointed in you,” Harry says, rubbing his thumb back and forth. “You’re human. That’s a tough pill to swallow.”

“When I— That night at the hotel with the dinner date and the flowers,” Louis says, closing his eyes, remembering how he’d wanted one last time with Harry, and Harry caresses his cheek, resting his hand on the side of Louis’ neck. “I’m so sorry for that. I went into that night knowing I was going to break things off with you and—”

“Ouch,” Harry says, and Louis sighs. 

“You should break up with me. I’ve been so horrible to you.”

“I don’t want to,” Harry says, tucking Louis’ hair behind his ears. “I did want to start over. I’m trying not to hold anything you did this summer against you because you were… You were in a bad place in here.” He taps Louis’ forehead, and Louis goes cross eyed trying to watch his finger. “Figuring out you’re gay is hard. I hated myself for a long time when I was a kid. Tried wishing it away. Praying it away. Tried to be straight.”

Louis tries picturing teenage Harry with a girlfriend, playing pretend. He shakes his head and admits, “Being around you gave me such a high. I didn’t know what it was, but it was like I craved you. Having you near me. Your smell, your taste, your voice, your touch. Everything about you. I wanted all of you and all at once and I thought if I could have that night—one last night—that I could siphon every bit of  _ you  _ from you, then it would be enough and I could let you go.”

Harry laughs, leaning in to kiss him quickly. “That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asks, his last few words the only ones he remembers saying. 

“This whole time, I think. I’ve been waiting for it to be enough so when you…” Harry wipes away a tear, and it falls onto the bedspread. He touches it with his fingertip and says, “When you decide to break things off, I’ll be okay, ’cause I’ll have had my fill.”

“You think I’m going to— Why would I break things off?” Louis asks, offended by the thought. He shoves Harry’s shoulder until he looks up, meeting his gaze. “If anything, it’ll be the other way around. I don’t deserve you, Harry. You’re too—”

“Shut up,” Harry says, slapping his hand over Louis’ mouth. He rolls Louis onto his back, pressing him into the mattress with his weight. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. You  _ shut up.” _

“Okay,” Louis mumbles, and Harry slowly removes his hand.

When Louis doesn’t say anything else, Harry relaxes on top of him, sliding off to the side, tugging at his sweater. Hand shaking, he combs his fingers through his hair, and Louis reaches up to touch the white streak at his temple. “You deserve to be loved, Louis.”

Louis’ eyes go wide and he blinks rapidly, unable to respond with words. It’s not a declaration, but it’s close enough. He rubs his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone, leaning over, and nudging their noses together, kissing him softly. His lips brush Harry’s as he says, “You’re wonderful. Perfect.”

“I’m not, but I’ll take the compliment,” Harry whispers, smiling against Louis’ mouth. 

“You are though. You’re…” Tracing the line of Harry’s jaw, Louis tries to think of what to say. 

“I’m what?” Harry asks, corner of his lips twitching. 

“Fishing for more compliments,” Louis says, and Harry pouts, furrowing his brow. “I’m just joking.”

Shrugging one shoulder, Harry admits, “No, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Louis snorts, tapping his finger against Harry’s lips, laughing as he asks, “You want me to praise you?”

“Maybe,” Harry says.

Framing it as a joke, he tells the truth, “You’re gorgeous. The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, chin down and looking up at him through his lashes. He catches his lip between his teeth and Louis watches the flush rise up his neck.

“Oh. You— You—” Shaking his head, Louis scoots forward, hiding his face in Harry’s sweater. “I thought you’d think I was stupid if I— I’ve been stopping myself from saying—” Louis groans miserably, and Harry laughs, cuddling Louis’ head to his chest. “You’re so  _ pretty.” _

“Thank you,” Harry says, and Louis lifts his head, reveling in the pink of his cheeks. 

“Harry, I’m serious,” Louis says, falling onto his back and laying his hand to his chest, he turns his head so he can watch Harry’s reaction as he speaks. “It’s hard to concentrate when I’m driving if you’re in the passenger seat because I want to look at you, but I’m supposed to keep my eyes on the road.”

“Lou,” Harry pokes him in the side. “Where is this coming from?”

“Six months of biting my tongue,” Louis says, rolling his eyes at himself. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Harry asks, crawling over and tucking himself against Louis’ side.

“Bringing me here. Making me talk,” Louis says, pulling Harry closer. He reaches for Harry’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and holding them up, pressing a kiss to the knuckle of Harry’s thumb. Harry lifts his chin to kiss Louis quickly before settling back down beside him. “Do you want to go to dinner?”

“Yeah, there’s a place close by. We can walk,” Louis says, but he doesn’t move, holding Harry tightly, breathing in the scent of his hair, and closing his eyes. 

≈≈≈≈≈

They spend two full days in Hatteras, as much of that in the water as possible. Louis tries not to ogle Harry in his wetsuit, but it’s not an easy feat when the neoprene hugs his body, making his legs look longer and following the curves of his muscles. At least Harry has a staring problem, too. Louis can feel his eyes on his bum from virtually every angle. 

After that first night, conversations are lighter, and Louis lets himself enjoy their getaway. He still checks his phone regularly, hoping for a word from Bo, but is disappointed every time. Of course, Harry picks up on it. The last morning, they go out to surf at dawn, and Harry brings it up.

“You need to talk to her, Lou,” Harry says. It’s not the first time he’s said so, but this time he doesn’t stop there. 

When Louis says, again, “I know. I’ll see her Christmas Eve.”

Harry says, “I don’t think you should wait. She’s hurting you. Punishing you.”

“She has every right,” Louis says, keeping his eyes on the horizon. “I deserve it.”

“You do not,” Harry says, paddling around so he’s in Louis’ line of sight. “You constantly punish yourself as it is!”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Harry,” Louis says, shaking his head. “This is supposed to be a vacation. Not extra therapy or whatever this is.”

“This is me trying to talk to my boyfriend about what’s bothering him,” Harry says, eyebrows raised. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“Well, this is me,” Louis says, spreading his arms wide. “My life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows just because the divorce is final.”

“I didn’t say it was or that it should be,” Harry says. 

“Look… I’m trying, okay? I’m trying to be who you want me to be and—”

“Wait. Stop. I want you to be yourself, Louis. I don’t want you to change who you are. I just want you to open up. Talk to me.” Leaning forward and paddling in front of an approaching wave, Harry says, “Talk to Bo.”

Harry lets it be for the rest of the morning, but when they’re on the road close to home, and Louis keeps checking his phone, Harry mentions it again. “She hasn’t texted?”

“No,” Louis says, looking out the window. He’s tired. Maybe they shouldn’t’ve surfed that morning. 

“What are you going to do if she doesn’t show on your birthday? You should call her. Fuck. It’s not fair, Lou, I know you think—”

“Enough!” Louis shouts, and the word rings around the interior of the Jeep. He lowers his voice and says, “She’s  _ my _ daughter. And it’s not your business. I don’t want to talk about this again.”

Harry glances over, swallowing and clenching his jaw hard enough that Louis can hear his teeth grind. “Fine.”

The last hour of the drive back is miserably silent, and Louis tries and fails a million times to apologize, unable to make himself say the words. When Harry pulls into the parking lot of Louis’ townhouse, he doesn’t turn off the ignition, or unbuckle his seatbelt. Looking straight ahead, Harry says, “I think we need to take a step back from this. From us.”

Louis’ stomach lurches. “Harry, I— I’m sorry I yelled at you and—”

“No, Lou, I’m…” Harry takes a shaky breath and says, “I’m falling in love with you. And I can’t… We don’t talk enough. You’re so closed off and I… I need some space. Some time to think. If we can’t handle a couple of weeks apart, maybe we aren’t meant to be anyway.” 

Eyes burning, Louis tries to blink the tears back, but they still fall. “Harry…” 

“I’m sorry, Louis, can you…” Harry nods towards Louis’ townhouse, and Louis closes his eyes. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. Cold, humid air hits his face when he climbs out of the Jeep. He grabs his bags and surfboard from the back, and starts up the sidewalk, turning to watch Harry drive away. 

Inside his townhouse, Louis drops his bags and his coat on the floor, kicks off his shoes, and walks through the kitchen to the patio, where he leans his surfboard against the wall. He should probably start a load of laundry or make a grocery list. There wasn’t anything in the kitchen when he left, so it’s not as though food magically appeared while he was gone. Ignoring his bags on the floor in the living room, he opens the fridge and sighs. 

The only thing he unpacks is the bag with his wetsuit in it. He takes it out onto the patio and drapes it over the little table so it’ll dry, and leaves the rest of his things for later. Upstairs, he crawls under the comforter, still in his sweatpants and hoodie, and pulls Harry’s pillow to him, burying his face in it, breathing in Harry’s scent while his tears soak the soft cotton of the pillow case. 

Harry’s anger and disappointment are justified. That doesn’t make it hurt less. If anything, it hurts more knowing that this is his doing. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	14. Chapter 14

≈≈≈≈≈

Louis wades through the rest of the week working at the city’s sports complex where they’ve set up a holiday light show that’ll run every night through New Year’s Day, but on Saturday, he puts on a happy face and drives over to Liam and Zayn’s house for dinner. 

“Hello,” Louis says, dragging the word out the way Harry sometimes does. He shakes his head and walks inside, handing Liam the bottle of wine and six-pack of beer he brought because he can never tell what they’ll prefer. 

“How’ve you been?” Zayn asks from the kitchen, tilting his head and pressing his lips together, clearly concerned for Louis’ well-being. It’s all he can do to stop from rolling his eyes. 

“I’m fine,” Louis says because he can’t tell if Zayn is worried about his post-divorce mental state or if word has gotten around that Harry broke up with him. He reaches for a beer and opens it, drinking too much too fast so he winds up coughing into his sleeve. 

“Sure seems like it,” Liam says, taking the other five beers and putting them in the fridge. 

Wiping his mouth, Louis asks, “What do you want me to say?” 

Liam shrugs, glancing at Zayn who says, “Haven’t really seen you since the divorce was finalized. And we, um… we heard you and Harry are taking a break?”

“Where’d you hear that?” Louis asks, wondering if he needs to remind Niall not to gossip.

“Well…” Zayn starts, then clears his throat, stepping away from the stove and letting Liam take over stirring the low country boil they promised him for dinner. “We had Harry over for dinner last night, actually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, we were going to have you both over, you know. Together. But we asked him first, and he said he didn’t want to make us uncomfortable or put us in the middle between you guys. He actually said he’d understand if we’d rather not hang out with him right now, since you guys are taking a break. So…”

“Guess I’m not mad at Niall for gossiping then,” Louis says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Right, um… We didn’t talk about you or anything,” Liam says, shutting off the stove. “Wound up talking about football mostly, which is much more interesting than you, just so you know.” 

“For some people,” Zayn says with a short laugh. “I want to know what happened.”

Louis gulps his beer, then sets the bottle down, picking at the corner of the label. “We sort of got into an argument. Except… It’s more like… He says I won’t open up and talk to him.”

“You _are_ pretty closed off lately,” Zayn says, opening a cabinet and pulling down three plates. “I mean, I kind of get it, but—”

“I don’t know how to not be,” Louis says, dragging his fingers through his hair. It’s getting too long. He pulls on the ends in the back. “It’s hard, going from this, like, normal life with Bridget and Bo to suddenly being gay and divorced.”

“Okay, well…” Liam leans on the counter and looks him in the eye. “First of all, gay is normal.”

“I know that,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, it’s not normal for me. It’s different from what I’m used to. And it’s such a sudden thing.”

“Alright, well… You’re also not suddenly gay. You just realized it, is all. It happens like that sometimes. Some people know they’re gay from, like, day one, even if they don’t know what it is or what it means. Some people don’t figure it out until they’re older. Haven’t you talked to your therapist about this?”

“Some,” Louis says with a shrug. “Feels like there so much to talk about that I don’t hit every point, if that makes sense?”

“It does,” Liam says.

“I think, like, in my head, my being gay and me cheating on Bridget are connected. I did tell Harry that,” Louis admits, trying to remember the details of their recent conversations. “So there’s this… I’m so ashamed of— of _cheating.”_ Just saying it still makes his stomach swirl. He closes his eyes and swallows. “Not just of doing it, but of how happy it made me to be with Harry when I wasn’t supposed to, and it’s so… There’s this massive cloud over me that’s like _you deserve every bad thing that happens to you_ and then there’s this other cloud that’s like _everyone knows you cheated on your wife_ and they’re sort of following me around and it just bleeds over into me being gay.”

Liam hums and Zayn leans into his side, draping his arm around his waist. Reaching over to tap the back of Louis’ hand, Zayn says, “You don’t deserve bad things.”

“Right,” Louis says. 

“You really don’t, man,” Zayn continues. “I’m not saying what you did was okay by any means, but you’re working your shit out. You’re trying. And a lot of people don’t.”

“I know,” Louis says. “I _am_ trying.”

“I do get why it’s all tied together though,” Liam says. “Considering how it all happened. But as far as being out? It’s okay if you're not comfortable being out.”

“I don’t even think that’s it, though,” Louis slumps forward, resting his forearms on the counter. “Like I said, it’s sort of tied together in my mind. So it feels almost like I don’t deserve to be out and, like, proud, because that would be a good thing for me. It’d make me happy and I don’t deserve that.”

“Dude,” Liam says, shaking his head. “If you want to be unhappy and, like, punish yourself eternally, you should go ahead and make this ‘break’ with Harry a permanent breakup.”

Clenching his teeth, Louis takes a deep breath through his nose. “I don’t want to be unhappy. I want to be happy and I want to be with Harry.”

“Then you have to let him in, man,” Zayn says, shoving Louis’ shoulder. “You’re punishing him, too. He was surprised we’d want him to come over and hang out after he told us you guys were having problems. Like, he thinks, if you guys break up for real, he won’t have us as friends.”

Crossing his arms, Liam pipes up, “I like having someone to watch football with. Even if he’s a Packers fan.”

Louis huffs a laugh through his nose. “I don’t mean to punish him. Or hurt him. I— I— I care about him.”

“You _care about him,”_ Zayn repeats, closing his mouth to stop his laughter. It doesn’t work and he ends up choking, eyes watering.

“Shut up,” Louis says, waiting until Zayn can breathe again. “What do I do? How can I fix things?”

“Not sure,” Liam says, plating up the shrimp and sausage, corn and potatoes. He passes a plate to Louis, and they all sit around the small table. “You need to talk to him. I mean, have you told him all the shit you’ve told us tonight?”

“Ehh.” Louis shrugs one shoulder, tilting his head to the side.

“Okay, well, talk to him.” Zayn spears a new potato with his fork and points it at Louis. 

“Are you wanting to be more… open about being together?” Liam asks.

When Louis nods, Zayn asks, “What about taking him on a date?” 

“Should I take him to… Is there a gay bar on the other side of town?” Louis asks, trying to remember. “Near that gym?”

Liam chuckles, shaking his head. “You don’t have to take him to a gay bar.”

“Especially here. It’s a, um… younger crowd.” Laughing quietly, Zayn says, “Unless you’re looking to hook up.”

“It doesn’t have to be a big date,” Liam says. “Something small. Like… Regular life stuff. Go to Whaley’s together. Go shopping together and just be a couple. Try not to worry about what other people might be thinking.”

“I can probably do that,” Louis says, wondering if Harry will be willing or if he’s already blown it. “I need another beer. Want one?”

“Yeah, sure,” Liam says, and Zayn nods, mouth full of potato. 

Louis tries not to drink too much, and he sobers up so he can drive home, not wanting to sleep on Zayn and Liam’s couch. When he gets home, he almost wishes he’d stayed because the bare walls of his apartment make him feel lonely. He showers, just for something to do, and when he climbs into bed, he immediately pulls Harry’s pillow to his face, missing him. 

Yawning, Louis reaches for his phone on the nightstand, typing out a quick text, which he reads over and over before he hits send. As soon as he does, he wishes he could take it back. Before he can work himself into a spiral of self-doubt, his phone vibrates in his hand, four short bursts.

Harry  
  
**Louis:** I’m sorry. I miss you  
  
**Harry:** I miss you too. We can talk next week when I get back from Tennessee  
  
**Louis:** Okay. Sweet dreams  
  


He leaves off the ‘baby’ and Harry doesn’t text back.

≈≈≈≈≈

On Wednesday, when he knows Harry’s on his way to Tennessee to spend the holidays with his mom, Louis goes home after work, intending to stew in his misery on the couch all evening. Instead, as soon as he kicks off his shoes and sits down, his phone lights up with a text.

Bridget  
  
**Bridget:** We got an offer on the house for 5k below the asking price. I told Andrea we’d take it  
  
**Louis:** Good. Let me know about the closing  
  
**Bridget:** She says probably mid-Feb  
  
**Louis:** Okay. Thanks for telling me  
  
**Louis:** Is Bo with you?   
  
**Bridget:** No she’s with Mikey  
  
**Louis:** Thanks  
  


It takes him a few minutes to work up the courage to text Bo, but he does it, immediately locking his phone afterward, and leaving it on the couch while he runs upstairs to change out of his work clothes and into the warm, cream cable knit sweater that Harry left behind. He tucks his sweatpants into thick socks and tugs his favorite beanie over his hair, hesitating a moment before grabbing Harry’s pillow, wrapping his comforter around his shoulders and carrying it back downstairs with him. Chances are he’ll fall asleep on the couch, so he might as well be comfortable. 

He unlocks his phone to find no response from Bo, and he lays on his side, wrapping the blanket around him, eyes going wide when three little dots appear.

Bo-Bo  
  
**Louis:** Missing you Bo-Bo  
  
**Bo:** HBD TOMORROW 48 IS OLD  
  
**Louis:** Are you still coming over tomorrow?  
  
**Bo:** Can I come over now?

In his haste to answer, he makes typo after typo, but manages to say yes and also to make sure she knows how to find his new place. A moment later, he texts her again to ask if she’s hungry because there’s nothing but cereal and canned ravioli in his kitchen, though he doesn’t tell her that. She is, so he orders Chinese which arrives just before Bo does. He’s still standing in the door, tipping the delivery guy, when she walks up behind him, carrying a cardboard box in both hands.

“Hi,” Bo says, shifting the box under one arm and wiggling her fingers at him, and he laughs because they’re dressed similarly, from beanies to sweatpants tucked into socks. 

“Come on. Come in,” Louis says, waving the delivery guy away when he offers change. “Keep it, man. Thanks.”

Bo steps inside, taking in the downstairs with one look around. She walks over and sets the box on the couch, then shoves her hands in her pockets, and shrugs. “I cut my hair.”

“Really? Let me see,” Louis says, carrying the bag of food over to the counter. He sets it down, waiting for her to take her hat off. 

“Don’t freak out,” she says, and he laughs.

“You could shave your head and I’d just be happy to see you,” Louis says, wanting nothing more than to reach for her and pull her into a hug. 

“Not far from the truth,” Bo says, taking off the beanie to reveal her hair, clipped short on the sides, just long enough to look messy on top. She runs her fingers through, messing it up intentionally.

“Shorter than mine,” Louis says, touching the back of his neck where his hair pokes out from under his beanie. “You like it?”

“Yeah,” she says, pulling her beanie back on. “I love it.”

“So do I,” Louis says, patting the sides of his thighs, nervous in front of his own child. “Can I hug you?”

Bo nods, and Louis moves fast in case she changes her mind, wrapping his arms around her and holding tight. “Oof. Can’t breathe.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, loosening his grip. He lets go, taking a step back, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of Harry’s sweater. “You want to eat?”

Scoffing, Bo says, “Don’t cry, Dad, what the fuck?” 

Louis looks at her, taken aback. He crosses his arms, frowning as he tries to get his thoughts together. Holding one finger up, he says, “First of all, language.” She rolls her eyes, and he has to take a breath. “Second, don’t roll your eyes at me. You know I’ve never minded you cursing. It’s your tone. Third, I haven’t seen or spoken to you in four months! Four! So excuse me if I’m a little teary! You know I’m an easy crier.”

Jutting her chin out, Bo reminds Louis of himself when he’s being obstinate, and he fully expects her to leave, but then she softens, scratching her forehead and reaching out to poke the bag of food. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Louis says, pulling the containers out of the bag. “You want plates and forks or…”

“Yeah, we can share that way,” she says, sitting on one of the stools at the counter. “Why don’t you have a table?”

“Don’t really need one,” Louis says, passing her a plate. “And I already had to buy a lot of stuff. Seemed like a waste of money.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve taken the kitchen table from home,” Bo says, taking a bite of an eggroll.

Louis shakes his head. “Your mom didn’t want me to take it.”

“I’m sure she didn’t want you to leave, but…”

“That’s unnecessary,” Louis says, laying his fork down. 

“Well, she didn’t,” Bo snaps, and Louis heaves a sigh. 

“Bo, would you—” Louis clears his throat, and stands, walking around the counter to get them each a glass of water. He passes one to her, and asks, “Would you rather me still be married to your mom and just pretend I’m not gay? Hide it?”

“Why not? It’s what you’ve always done,” she says.

“Is that what you think?” Louis asks, dropping onto the stool beside her.

“It’s the truth, isn’t it? Mom said you guys hadn't been having sex in, like, years and—”

“She said that to you?” Louis asks, almost screeching. 

“Not _to_ me. I overheard her talking to Andrea. They didn’t know I was listening,” Bo says, and then seems to realize what she said. “Don’t tell Mom? I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose.”

“Jesus Christ,” Louis says, combing his fingers through his hair, knocking his beanie off. “I don’t know what to say other than that’s none of your business.”

“Fine,” Bo says, fishing in the bag for a packet of spicy mustard. “Still true though.”

“I’m not— I’m not—” Louis shakes his head, pulling his beanie back on. “I didn’t know I was gay until this summer. It took me most of the summer to even figure it out. And it hasn’t been easy for me. I feel like a complete idiot because how does someone my age not know they’re gay?”

“Seriously,” Bo says, like she’s waiting for him to answer his own question.

“I’ve asked myself a million versions of the same question, Bo. Like, did I become gay? Was I straight and then some switch flipped? Am I bi? Turns out I’m not. At least, I’m pretty sure I’m not. But, God, Bo, when I was growing up, no one was gay. No one. Even if people were gay, they weren’t out. There was literally one gay man I knew of when I was a kid—knew _of,_ not knew. And he was a friend of a friend of a friend of your grandmother. Maybe someone’s brother? I don’t know. And he grew up here, but moved to California after high school. He got the fuck out of here because he knew he couldn’t be himself here.”

“Yeah, but you know gay people now. Liam and Zayn are some of your best friends,” Bo says, and it’s almost like talking to himself a few months back. 

“I know! It doesn’t make sense! Except, it does. The more I read and learn, the more sense it makes because, for me anyway, I couldn’t be gay because I had a girlfriend. Then I had a wife. We were happy together, or I thought we were, but it turns out that not fighting all the time doesn’t mean you’re happy. We got along. We knew each other well because we’d been together forever. We never knew anything else, Bo.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Bo says, and something catches in Louis’ throat.

“Don’t—” Louis holds his hand up and says, “Don’t blame Harry.”

“If it wasn’t for him, you and Mom would still be married.”

“If I hadn’t met him, maybe. But I’d also be unaware of a big part of me,” Louis says, “And who knows? I might’ve worked it out for myself in a year or two. I might never have. But your mom and I— Us getting divorced is because I’m gay. Not because of Harry.”

“Can’t believe you’re gay,” Bo says, pushing her plate away. 

“Does it bother you?” Louis asks. 

“No, I just— I don’t know. It’s a big change, I guess.”

“No kidding,” Louis says, huffing a laugh. “Look, Bo, you can be mad at me. You can hate me. God knows, I deserve it. But can we try to get past it? I miss you so much. And I’ve missed everything from the last few months. Cutting your hair, your entire first semester of college, I don’t know what else.”

“I don’t hate you,” Bo says, “I’m pissed at you. You did some really shitty stuff and it’s hard to get my head around it.”

“Did you, um, did you start therapy?” he asks.

“Yeah, but like, it’s hard to make time with all my classes. I’ve been twice.”

“It’s worth making time,” Louis says.

Giving him a pointed look, she says, “Is it.”

“Yeah, it is. Let me transfer some money to your account while I’m thinking about it.” Louis says, grabbing his phone and unlocking it. “I did promise to pay. Will a couple hundred cover the copay for a few months?”

“Yeah, that’s— What’s that— Oh.” Tapping his phone, she draws Louis’ attention to his wallpaper, a picture of him and Harry in the hammock on the patio taken just a few weeks ago. “You guys are, like, official.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

“Won’t I have to see it in person eventually anyway?”

“Not— Not necessarily,” Louis says, rubbing his eyes. “He’s not very happy with me at the moment.”

“What’d you do?” Bo asks, eyebrows raised. 

“I don't want to complain, because I know it’s my fault. And I know you think it’s easy for me, the divorce and everything. But it’s been hard, especially you cutting me out,” Louis says. 

“What’s that have to do with Harry?”

“He, um, we got into an argument because he wanted me to call you and talk to you,” Louis tells her, flinching a little as he says the words aloud. “I yelled. Said it wasn’t his business.”

Bo laughs. She cackles the same way Bridget does and it fades into a chuckle almost identical to his own, and just as he’s about to tell her it isn’t funny, she says, “Mikey’s mad at me for the same thing.”

His anger dissipates and he asks, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bo says, still giggling behind her hand. “She said— Well, she said a lot, but she said ‘parents are just people and people aren’t perfect’ and, um, she said at least you aren’t a complete asshole like her dad, and that I shouldn’t have such high standards because you’re a man.”

As offended as he’d like to be, he finds himself laughing instead. “I _am_ sorry. I was so selfish. But you should hold men to high standards, too. And I do wish I’d realized I was gay sooner, but Bo, if I’d figured it out as a teenager, then I wouldn’t’ve married your mom, and you wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

“One of the reasons I didn’t want to talk to you is ’cause you make it really hard to stay mad,” Bo says, shoving him in the chest so that he has to grab onto the counter or topple over. “You’re so sincere. It’s the worst.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re the only person who feels that way,” Louis says, tapping his fingers on his knee. 

“Yeah, well… You could’ve done things differently,” Bo says, resting her elbow on the counter and propping her chin in her hand. “That’s part of why I’m still so mad at you. Like… You could’ve told mom you were questioning your sexuality. You could’ve— Like, you and Mom made such a big deal about me making ‘good choices’ and it’s just hypocritical, I think.”

“You’re right.” Louis pushes his plate away and lays his forehead on the countertop, fighting the urge to bash it over and over. “I’m sorry.”

“Your hair’s so long,” Bo says, pulling it where it sticks out of his beanie. 

“Are you changing the subject?” Louis asks, lifting his head and taking off the beanie so she can play with his hair. When she was little, she used to practice braiding it when it’d get long like this in the winter.

“Can I braid it?”

“You’re changing the subject,” Louis says, standing and collecting their plates. He takes care of the dishes and Bo packs up their leftovers, pulling his hair again as soon as she washes her hands. 

“Talking is hard, okay?” Bo whines, stomping her feet a little. “And I’m tired. Mom and I were arguing yesterday, and I didn’t sleep well, and now I just want to hang out and braid your hair and watch TV.”

“I don’t have a TV,” Louis says, pointing to the still empty space where he’s learned that, yes, everyone in one of these townhouses puts their television. 

“You have a laptop,” she says, rolling her eyes and walking over to the couch. “So, can I braid your hair?”

“Yeah, okay,” Louis says, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the couch. “You want to tell me what’s in this box?”

“Oh!” Bo grabs the box and sets it on the floor at her feet, unfolding the flaps to open it. “Christmas stuff that belonged to Gram.”

Louis peers into the box. On top is an old tablecloth that belonged to his mother, folded neatly and tucked around whatever’s beneath it. He pulls it out and holds it up, studying the embroidered bells and holly leaves. 

“No real point in unpacking any of it,” Bo says, taking the tablecloth and putting it back in the box. “No tree for the decorations. No table for the tablecloth.”

“Haven’t exactly been feeling festive,” Louis says, and Bo nods, moving the box out of his reach, so he tries to change the subject. “Want to tell me what you and your mom were arguing about?”

“Not really,” Bo says, combing her fingers through his hair. “Do I have to?”

“No, I guess not,” Louis says with a shrug, grabbing Harry’s pillow off the couch and holding it in his lap while she works the tangles out of his hair.

With his laptop on the little coffee table, they watch _Back to the Future_ while Bo braids his hair. She doesn’t want to talk, so he isn’t going to force it, happy to have her there even if it’s sitting in silence and watching the too small screen of his laptop. Eventually, she gets bored of braiding his hair, and he climbs up beside her on the couch to watch some old episodes of _Star Trek: The Next Generation._ His phone lights up with a message, and he glances at the screen, flipping it over face down on the coffee table. It’s midnight, officially Christmas Eve and his birthday, and Harry sent him a text. 

“What time is it?” Bo asks, pulling out her phone and answering her own question. “Midnight. Happy birthday, Dad.”

“Thanks, Bo-Bo.”

“Is that Harry?” she asks, pointing to his phone.

Louis hesitates, worried he’ll upset her. “Yes.”

She chews on the inside of her cheek and nods. “Can I stay over? It’s late and Mikey dropped me off, so…”

“Yeah, of course,” Louis says, pausing the screen. “You want to finish watching this?”

She shakes her head, standing and stretching, and says, “I want to see my room. Did you know Mom’s staying with Andrea?”

“No,” Louis says, though he isn’t surprised. 

Bo starts for the stairs, talking to him over her shoulder. “Andrea has her McMansion and she invited Mom to move in until the house sells and she finds a new place.”

“Um…” Louis quickly gathers his comforter and pillow, slipping his phone into his pocket. “We accepted an offer on the house, actually.”

“Oh. That’s… That’s weird. I was kind of pissed because I don’t want to have Christmas with Andrea, just Mom. No offense. But that’s what we were arguing about.” At the top of the stairs, she looks from door to door. “Which is mine?”

“To the right,” Louis says, throwing his comforter and pillow onto his bed, then following her to her room. “Don’t laugh at the blanket. You’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Oh my God, Dad,” Bo says, laughing as she flops onto the bed. “I thought this got thrown out.”

Louis tugs on the corner of the Pokémon blanket. “It was in the attic.”

“I get my own bathroom,” Bo says, hopping off the bed and exploring her room. “Where’d you get a Pokémon shower curtain?”

Clearing his throat, Louis quietly says, “Harry bought it.”

“Tell him thanks,” Bo says from the bathroom. “Dad, you thought of everything. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo… Thank you.”

“Wanted you to be comfortable here,” Louis says, straightening out the blanket on the bed. “I’m glad you like the Pokémon stuff. I wasn’t sure if you were too old for it or if it’d be nostalgic or what.”

“Dad, I still play Pokémon Go,” Bo says, unwrapping her new Pokémon toothbrush. “It’s great. I’m, um, I’m tired though. Night night.”

“Sleep tight,” Louis whispers. 

“Go to sleep or…” Bo sings quietly. 

“I might bite... you,” Louis sings back, opening his arms for a hug. She wraps her arms around his middle, squeezing him tight. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” she says, letting go and taking a step back. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, and, um, thanks for coming over,” Louis says, backing out of the room. “Text your mom and let her know where you are.”

“She thinks I’m at Mikey’s.”

“Oh, I guess… Don’t wake her up. It’s late. Tell Mikey I said hello?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bo says, gently closing the door in his face.

Louis snorts, smiling as he heads for his room. He spreads the comforter out on his bed, then forces himself to brush his teeth before climbing underneath it and unlocking his phone to read Harry’s text and respond. 

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Happy birthday Lou. Hope you have a good day  
  
**Louis:** Bo came over and we talked. She’s staying in her Pokémon room tonight. She said thank you for the shower curtain  
  
**Harry:** I’m glad she likes it. Was it a good talk?  
  
**Louis:** I think so. I’m sorry about everything. I miss you  
  


Three little dots blink and then stop. The screen changes to an incoming FaceTime call and Louis drops his phone, scrambling to pick it up and answer. 

Harry’s face appears, backlit by warm light, and he whispers, “Lou?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry,” Louis says, reaching out to flip on the lamp. “Hi.”

“What is—” Squinting, Harry leans in, then backs up. “Are those braids?”

“Shit, yeah,” Louis says, unraveling the braid across the front of his hair. “Bo likes to do that when it gets long. I need to get it cut, I guess.”

“It’s cute,” Harry says, pursing his lips and wrinkling his nose, and Louis sinks into the pillow, grinning at his phone. 

“How was the drive?” Louis asks, still working on the rest of his braids. 

“Long. Boring,” Harry says, and Louis watches as he rolls onto his back, holding the phone above him, short curls like a halo around his head. “Decorated my mom’s trees today. She has four. And then I helped her with some minor maintenance stuff, so I’m tired. How’ve you been?”

“Miserable,” Louis says, and Harry snorts. “I’m sorry about— About everything. For not talking to you. For yelling and for not listening. You were right. I should’ve called Bo weeks ago.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, we talked a lot. I don’t know what we’re doing tomorrow or if she’ll even hang around. She might want to go back to Mikey’s,” Louis says, wondering if Mikey has plans for the holiday. Maybe they should invite her to join them. 

Yawning while he speaks, Harry says, “I should go.”

“Yeah, um… Me too. I need to get to sleep. Might have to run to the store in the morning,” Louis says, wishing he could think of something to say to keep Harry on the phone a little while longer.

“’Night, Lou,” Harry says. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, ba— Harry. Sweet dreams,” Louis says, hanging up quickly, embarrassed at his slip, almost calling Harry ‘baby’. He plugs his phone in, turning off the lamp and snuggling up with Harry’s pillow. 

≈≈≈≈≈

In the morning, Louis wakes to find Bo downstairs waiting for him. He jumps when he sees her there, standing in the kitchen in the dark, trying to find coffee in his empty cabinets. 

“You have no food,” Bo says, like he’s unaware of it. “How can you live like this?”

“I’ve been— Okay, I haven’t been busy. I’ve been sad. And wallowing,” Louis admits, opening one of two cabinets with anything inside. “I have cereal.”

“But no milk.”

Louis opens the other cabinet. “I have dishes.”

“They’re very nice. I can have a bowl of dry cereal,” she says, opening the fridge. 

“I have granola bars in the truck,” Louis offers. 

“Take me to get my board?” Bo asks, walking to the front door. 

“Yeah, let me brush my teeth and grab my wetsuit,” Louis says, running up the stairs. Since they’re going to the beach anyway, he quickly changes into his wetsuit, and hurries back downstairs, grabbing his board from his patio. “Where’s your board?” 

“At Mikey’s,” she says, snatching his keys from his hand. “I’ll drive.”

It’s been years since he’s been to Mikey’s, once Bo started driving, they didn’t need to drop her off and pick her up, and he knew she was living on her own now, but it still surprises him when Bo heads south on the highway. It’s only a couple of miles before she turns off into a parking lot, fitting his truck between two old strip malls onto a road he didn’t know existed. 

“I had no idea there was anything back here,” Louis says, sitting up in his seat and peering out into the dark. 

“Just some old trailers,” Bo says, driving past an ancient single-wide and what looks like corn growing behind it. She passes two more and parks in front of another, the sides more bare metal than paint. 

“Does Mikey live alone?” Louis asks, looking at Bo’s car, and the other two cars, all three in a line in front of the trailer.

“No she lives with her sister,” Bo says, climbing out of the truck. “Be right back.”

Louis has a vague memory of meeting Claudia, years back, and she seemed like a decent kid. Though he’s not sure where her purchasing champagne for Bo sits on the scale, even if it was intended for him and Bridget to drink. He watches her unlock the door and go inside. A few minutes later, she stands on the wooden steps in her wetsuit, locking the door, backpack hanging from her shoulder, surfboard under her arm. Louis hops out to help her, taking the board and laying it in the truck bed while she shoves the rest of her stuff on the floor board. 

“Let’s go,” she says, climbing into the passenger seat this time. 

The sky is already turning from grey to orange when they get to the beach, but Louis stops to bicker with Bo about whether or not they need to wear gloves and booties in the water. It’s a short argument, which he loses because he doesn’t actually want to wear them, and they both run down through the sand barefoot.

“See? It’s not that cold,” Bo says, ducking under a wave, and coming up, shaking her short hair. 

Once his board slows to a natural stop, Louis sits up, paddling around to face her. “Holy shit.”

“Shark?” Bo pulls her feet up onto her board. 

“No, the guys are here,” Louis says, pointing to the beach where Niall, Zayn and Liam are making their way down to the water, all three of them in wetsuits. They look like they’re in a movie, walking in a line, carrying their boards. 

“I haven’t seen any of them since I left for school,” Bo says, waving both arms at them. 

The guys paddle out right up next to them, surrounding Bo, and chastising her for not visiting them or calling them or texting them or emailing them or writing them letters.

“I bought you stamps!” Liam yells, and Niall cackles, almost falling off his board.

“They’re in my desk in my dorm,” Bo says, promising, “I’ll send you all postcards.”

“Did you donate the hair?” Niall asks, paddling up close and rubbing the top of her head. 

“Yeah, that charity Harry told me about,” she says. Every single one of them glances at Louis when she says Harry’s name, and Bo doesn’t miss it, but she ignores it. “So… You guys are up early.”

“We thought your dad would be alone,” Zayn says, paddling past them to float a few feet away.

“Didn’t think you were visiting him until later today,” Liam says, pushing the nose of Bo’s board down so she has to right herself. “He’s missed you.”

“I know,” she says softly. “I’ve missed him too. Missed you guys. Sorry I haven’t been around.”

“No worries,” Niall says, then turns to Louis, splashing him in the face. “Happy birthday, old man!”

“Thanks, Ni,” Louis says, wiping the salt water from his eyes. 

“Hey,” Liam says, paddling over to Zayn and whispering something. Zayn nods, and Liam announces, “New Year’s party at our place. Everyone’s invited. Nothing big, nothing fancy. We just wanted to have a little get together. Champagne’s on us, but if you want anything else, bring it. You’re invited, Bo-Bo.”

“Oh… While it sounds like a fun time, I’ll have to pass. Already have plans,” Bo says, not looking disappointed at all. 

“You’ll call me if you need a ride,” Louis reminds her, and she rolls her eyes. “Bo.”

“I’ll probably just take an Uber, but okay,” she says.

“What about me, Dad?” Niall asks. Louis flips him off behind his back where Bo can’t see. 

They surf for a little while, but not long enough to get cold. Once the sun’s fully above the horizon, they head out, stopping in the parking lot for Niall to take a birthday selfie. 

“Does it count as a selfie if you use the timer?” Louis asks as Niall props up his phone with a crushed Pepsi can on one of the wooden fence posts beside the dunes. 

“Shut up and smile!” Niall yells, running over to stand with them, all five of them in wetsuits, wrapped in towels, shivering in the cold air. Harry’s absence is palpable, and Louis wonders if anyone else feels it too, or if it would be different if they were on good terms when Harry left to visit his mom.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Bo stick out her tongue, and he follows suit, shaking off the regret that comes with missing Harry. Crossing his eyes, Louis makes a face just in time for the picture. Before they get out of the parking lot, Niall sends it to them all, and he’s pretty sure Bo doesn’t think he can see, but she saves it as her lock screen. He catches a glimpse of her phone wallpaper, too, and it looks like her and Mikey, cheek to cheek laying in the grass somewhere. 

“You know that your mom and I love you, no matter what,” Louis says for the millionth time since Bo was born. Or since before she was born. He remembers saying that through Bridget’s belly button at time or two. 

“You know you sound so cheesy when you say that,” Bo says, but when Louis growls quietly, she laughs. “I know you love me. I don’t always want to tell you stuff though.”

Louis takes a deep breath, blowing a raspberry. He drags out the words as he says, “That’s fine.”

“Thanks,” Bo says, giving him a toothy grin and two thumbs up. “I want a shower and breakfast and coffee and then we have to go shopping for a Christmas tree.”

“I don’t need a tree,” Louis says, though he isn’t going to say no to shopping with her, even if it’s on Christmas Eve.

≈≈≈≈≈

“Oh my God, it’s crazy here,” Louis says, pushing the cart through Walmart with Bo standing on the front end. “Why did we come here?”

“’Cause they’re open,” Bo says, hopping off the cart to rifle through the mess that is the Christmas decoration section of the store. 

Nothing is where it should be, and he spends most of his time picking up things from the floor and putting them back on the shelf so he doesn’t run over them with the cart that Bo is quickly filling with ornaments, lights, snow globes, stockings, and Louis doesn’t know what else because he’s too busy trying not to bump into other people. At one point, the cart is so full that she leaves him standing by the inflatable Santa Claus and returns with a second cart which she says is for actual groceries. Then she leads him through the crowds to the other side of the store. 

This time, at least, she doesn’t completely fill the cart. Still, it’s hours after they started that they’re out in the parking lot, loading what feels like a million bags into the back of his truck, and after that, he has to stop on the side of the road to buy a tree which they somehow fit in the truck bed along with everything else. He loses count of how many trips they make back and forth from the truck to the townhouse. 

“What in the hell did I buy?” Louis asks, opening a bag and pulling out yet another surfing Santa ornament. “I got you a Switch Lite for Christmas. Might have to take it back.”

“No… Dad, please?” Bo goes wide-eyed, clasping her hands together and grinning until he nods, and she says, “Thank you!”

“Seriously, though… I don’t know where to put all of this.”

“We’re decorating,” Bo says, ripping open the packaging of a snow globe and setting it on the coffee table. 

“Okay. Let’s get this tree up,” Louis says, setting the tree stand in the television alcove.

It’s more work than he intended to do on his birthday, but it’s fun, and Bo stays through dinner, cleaning up the mess they made while he cooks. Afterwards, he drops her off at Mikey’s, helping her haul her stuff to her car, and leaving her with a hug and a kiss to her forehead. 

When he gets home, he sits on his couch in the dark with only the Christmas tree lights on. Bo did a good job. It’s festive, if a little much, and he has no clue where he’ll store everything come January, but it made her happy, and he’s enjoying the array of twinkly lights she strung on the tree. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Louis waits as long as he can to text Harry, worried that he’ll seem annoying or pushy if he bothers him during the holiday with his family. He finally decides to text him after he’s in bed, that way if Harry doesn’t text him back, he can cry himself to sleep right there. Luckily, Harry texts him first.

Harry  
  
**Harry:** Happy birthday again. Hope you had a good day :)  
  
**Louis:** I did. Spent the whole day with Bo  
  
**Harry:** Everything ok with you two?  
  
**Louis:** Getting there   
  
**Louis:** The boys all showed up to surf this morning  
  


Louis sends him the picture, laughing when he notices his and Bo’s matching silly faces, eyes crossed, tongues out. 

Harry  
  
**Harry:** I LOVE HER HAIR!   
  
**Louis:** Me too. She seems to really like it short  
  
**Louis:** She donated it the same place you did  
  
**Harry:** Bo is a really lovely person. You and Bridget should be proud  
  
**Louis:** Thank you  
  
**Louis:** Speaking of. We accepted an offer on the house  
  


When the screen changes to the FaceTime incoming call this time, Louis doesn’t drop his phone. 

“Hi,” Louis says as soon as Harry’s face appears.

“That’s a big deal, selling the house,” Harry says, biting his lip. “Are you okay about it?”

“Is this you taking time and space from us?” Louis asks, and Harry scowls at him.

“That’s not funny, I—”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” Louis says, trying to get his thoughts together. “I think I’m okay? It’s like… It’s a relief, I guess. It was sort of hanging over me, knowing that it had to be dealt with, but on someone else’s timeline.”

“Makes sense,” Harry says.

“Yeah, and like, with Bo, Bridget and I won’t ever really be able to sever ties completely, but I’m okay with that, too,” Louis says, though it’s disappointing to think that for the rest of her life, Bo will have to decide who to spend time with, to prioritize which parent gets what parts of her. It’s unfair. “I was worried Bo would be upset about the house, but she seems like she’s alright with it.”

“That’s good,” Harry says, scratching his chin and drawing attention to the scruff he hasn’t bothered shaving. 

“Listen, um… If you’re up for it, when you get back, let’s go grab dinner at Whaley’s,” Louis says, holding his breath while he waits for Harry’s response.

“Maybe,” Harry says. “We can talk when I get back on Sunday.”

“Okay, yeah, um… That’s good,” Louis says. “I want to try, like, if you’re interested in working things out, I want to go on a date. I figured Whaley’s ’cause it’s lowkey, but if you want to go somewhere nicer, we can do that. I just— I want to make the effort. Show you that I’m serious.”

“Serious,” Harry repeats, humming and nodding. 

“I thought you might not want to see me at all when you get back,” Louis says, wishing he could reach through the phone and tug on the loose curl hanging in the middle of Harry’s forehead. 

“No, I do. I want… I want us to work, Lou. I… I’ve been pouting and missing you,” Harry says, combing his fingers through his hair, but that one curl falls right back down and Louis smiles. “I’m sure when you meet Gemma she’ll tell you all about it.”

“You want me to meet your family?” 

“Maybe. You know, if things work out,” Harry says, tucking his lower lip between his teeth. “They want to meet you.”

“What do they know about me?” Louis asks, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Not a lot. Hey…” Harry says. Louis blinks open his eyes, to see Harry pouting dramatically. “I told them we were friends first and started dating in October. That you were married, but separated in September. And I told them about Bo.”

“Creative truths,” Louis says, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“They’re not entitled to know everything about my life,” Harry says, and Louis watches while he moves around, trying not to feel dizzy as the phone goes where Harry goes, sitting up against a wooden headboard instead of lying down. “I’m not proud of my part in… in how things happened. See? It’s hard to say it. Our _affair._ Jesus.” 

“Sounds like bad television.”

“It does,” Harry whines, letting his head fall back against the headboard, distracting Louis with a perfect view of his jaw and the line of this throat. 

“I’m sorry for that,” Louis says, and he’ll probably never stop apologizing. “For the way things started. I wish we could’ve had a regular beginning.”

“Can’t change it, Lou,” Harry says, dropping his chin down. “Can do what we can to make the middle better than the beginning though.”

Louis grins at him, wishing again that he could touch him, kiss him, smell him, go to sleep with him, and whispers, “I promise to do everything I can to make a better middle, Harry.”

≈≈≈≈≈


	15. Chapter 15

≈≈≈≈≈

Louis spends Christmas Day alone for the first time in his life. It’s less depressing than he expects it to be. All of the guys invited him to spend the day with them, but he turned them down. Niall’s spending the holiday with Savannah, his latest girlfriend, and third wheeling on what is pretty much a date isn’t his idea of a good time. And he doesn’t want to have to ask Liam and Zayn what they’ve told their families about his divorce or his life over the last six months; he doesn’t want to know. Actually, he’s decided to assume that people know everything, even when they can’t possibly, because it leaves room for being pleasantly surprised. 

He surfs by himself that morning, and he sits a little longer than usual, watching the sun come up. Forty-eight feels different than forty-seven, and he’s not certain that’s the truth, but he wants it to be. 

In the barely two weeks they’ve been apart, he’s come to terms with his feelings for Harry, and the important place he’s claimed in Louis’ life. As much as he enjoys surfing alone, he wishes Harry could be there with him. 

Later in the day, when he’s bored of being lazy, he bundles up and drives over to the airport parking lot. There aren’t a lot of planes on Christmas. It’s a county airport with only one runway, mostly used by the companies that fly banner planes over the beach in the summer, but he does see someone’s private plane take off. While he watches it fly towards him, lift off, and go overhead, landing gear disappearing inside, he wonders if he’d like that, to be able to take to the sky whenever he wants. It’s landing that seems scary. The ocean feels safer. 

By the time Sunday comes, he’s beyond ready to see Harry. Despite the day, no one else joins him at sunrise, and he cuts his time in the water short, as if that could bring Harry home any faster. He’s still got a long drive and probably isn’t even awake yet. 

It’s noon before he hears from Harry, one short text to tell him he’s on the way, and it’s a few hours later that Louis realizes that means he’s on the way to his apartment, not Louis’ place, and he actually considers driving over to meet him in the parking lot. 

It would be useful to have a key, but they’re not at that point in their relationship, whatever point that is, if Harry’s even still interested in working things out. He isn’t sure about exchanging keys, not having done this before. _This_ being starting a relationship as an adult. 

With Bridget, he never had a key to her apartment. She always had roommates, and it was never something either of them brought up. It would’ve been weird. They didn’t live together until they were married, and that was mainly due to living in dorms and her parents’ ideas of propriety. Technically, he could give Harry a key to his place, but that’s a big step, and it seems like it should come later on in their relationship, specifically, after he’s comfortable enough with his own feelings to say them outloud.

Still, as soon as Harry texts him that he’s home and willing to talk, Louis practically leaps into his shoes.

“Hi,” Harry says when he opens the door.

“Hi.” Louis stands there, just outside, waiting to be invited in, but he takes it as a good sign that Harry’s wearing one of his hoodies with the beach service logo on the chest.

“Come in,” Harry says, backing up. “It’s cold out there.”

Louis steps inside, not sure what to do with his hands, but just as he goes to shove them in his pockets, Harry pulls him into a hug, holding him close and burying his face in his neck. He wraps his arms around Harry, and rubs his nose behind Harry’s ear, whispering, “Missed you.”

Harry’s hands roam over Louis’ back and arms, settling on the curve of his lower back. “I’m sorry you had to spend Christmas alone.”

“Was boring,” Louis says, tightening his arms around Harry’s waist.

“Did I miss anything?” Harry asks, pulling back slightly and forcing Louis to meet his eyes. 

“Oh, um…” Louis rubs their noses together, and lets him go. “Zayn and Liam are having a little New Year’s party. We’re invited, if you want to go.”

_“We’re_ invited?” Harry repeats.

“Yeah, is that—” Panicking at his assumption that they’re still together as a couple, Louis’ eyes go wide, and he says, “Unless we aren’t a ‘we’.”

“We are a ‘we’.”

“Oh. Good,” Louis says, and can’t be embarrassed about his relieved sigh. “Do you want to go?”

“It’s at their place?” Harry asks, and Louis nods. “Big party?”

“I don’t think so. Their place isn’t huge.”

“I know. I had dinner with them, um…”

“I know. They told me,” Louis says, remembering the conversation the next night. “You and Liam talked football.”

“Yeah, um… I’m only asking because… How do you want to… It might be uncomfortable, going to a party with me,” Harry says, looking away, combing his fingers through his hair. “As your boyfriend, I mean.”

“Right,” Louis says slowly, scratching the nape of his neck, thinking again about his annual haircut. “That’s why I wanted to do, like, a date first.”

“Okay. Because we haven’t really been anywhere here as a couple. When we do go places, people could think… It’s not obvious what we are. It’s not as if we’re holding hands in the grocery store, is it?”

“Do you want to hold hands in the grocery store?” Louis asks. 

“Not particularly,” Harry says with a little pout. “Would be hard to shop like that. And push the cart.”

“True,” Louis says, laughing and shaking his head.

“I think what I mean is… I’m always watching myself when we’re someplace together. I try not to touch you or stand too close because it seems like that’s what you want. So, if you want to go to this party—especially since it’s a New Year’s party, and there’s always drinking, and the expectation to kiss at midnight—I think you’re right. It’s a good idea to do something lowkey first.”

“It’s like we’re devising a plot for me to be gay in public.”

“That is, um… That’s exactly what we’re doing,” Harry says. “I know you said Whaley’s, but I’ve been gone for a week, and I need to go grocery shopping. I was already going to ask if you wanted to go with me. So…”

Thinking of the hours he spent shopping with Bo, yet he still managed to forget milk, Louis asks, “Do you have a list?”

“On how to be gay at the grocery store?” Harry asks, and Louis barks a laugh.

“No,” Louis says, clearing his throat. “I meant a grocery list.”

“Oh…” Closing his eyes, Harry fights a laugh, snorting and then wheezing in an effort to keep his mouth shut. 

Raising his eyebrows, Louis says, “I think I can figure the rest out for myself.”

Tears in his eyes from laughing, Harry leans in and gives Louis a quick kiss. “I’ve got a list. We can go in a little while. I want to be with you for a bit.”

≈≈≈≈≈

Climbing out of Harry’s Jeep, Louis slips his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and tugs on it. He meets Harry around the back, waiting while he gets his reusable bags in order, trying not to be nervous. This is nothing new. They’ve been to this exact store before in the last few weeks. In an effort to shake his nerves, he takes Harry’s hand, holding it as they walk through the parking lot.

“You don’t have to do that, Lou,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ fingers. “Just be you.”

“Well, I’m not letting go now,” Louis says, bumping their hips together. 

They cross over to the store, and Harry grabs a cart, setting his bags inside. As they walk through the automatic doors, Louis rests his palm on Harry’s lower back, noticing what he’s doing after the fact. He nods to himself and Harry giggles. 

“Are you laughing at me?” Louis asks, pinching Harry’s hip. 

“A little,” Harry admits, stopping and picking up a bunch of bananas. He looks around, and says quietly, “It’s funny to watch you.”

“What’s so funny?” Louis asks, offended.

“It’s just…” Harry frowns, pushing the cart over to the apples. “You’re not normally self-conscious, like, at all. You never seem shy or unsure, so it’s odd seeing you almost watch yourself, if that makes sense.”

Louis scratches his beard, thinking as he follows Harry over to the vegetables. “It’s weird because I grew up here. I know, like, so many people. And they all know me as Louis married to Bridget. I think I would feel just as self-conscious if I was with anyone. I don’t think it’s specifically about being gay or being divorced and in a new relationship or because we…” He trails off because Harry’s right. There isn’t a good way to say it.

“We should call it our inception,” Harry suggests, pushing the cart out of the produce section.

“Genesis, like the Bible,” Louis says, and Harry laughs. 

“Commencement.”

They carry on like that, making their way through the store, marking items off of Harry’s list, and it turns out that being silly is the best way for Louis to loosen up. It’s much easier to just be when he’s not worried about what that’s supposed to look like. The only glitch is in the checkout line, when Harry runs back to grab the butter he forgot, and Louis looks up to see Mrs. Adams, one of his old neighbors, watching him from behind the cash register. 

“Hello, Louis,” she says, ringing up Harry's bananas. 

Louis opens his mouth to say hello, and the kid bagging Harry's groceries puts the bananas in a plastic bag, prompting Louis to rush out, “Wait! We have bags!”

He digs them out from under the eggs and bread and passes them to the bagger with an apology just as Harry appears beside him. “Got the butter.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, smiling at his former neighbor. “Hi, Mrs. Adams. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you,” she says, scanning Harry's loyalty card, eyes darting back and forth between them. “You’re doing alright, I hope. With the divorce and all.”

“Yep,” Louis says, rocking back on his heels as Harry pushes the cart around to help bag the groceries. He catches Louis’ eye, raising his eyebrows, and Louis winks. 

She goes on to talk about the neighborhood and how she hopes some nice older couple buys Louis and Bridget’s house. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not terrible, and he wonders what he thought might happen. Even Bridget’s worst was two words spit out in a loud sports bar that, chances are, no one else overheard. The cheating, his own bad choices, are what he’s been most concerned about being judged on. It’s a relief, and he tells Harry as they’re loading the bags into his Jeep. 

“That went okay,” Louis says, shutting the hatch and leaning against it. He tugs on the sleeve of Harry’s sweatshirt, taking his hand and lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

“When are you off this week?” Harry asks. 

“Friday, Saturday and Sunday,” Louis says. “Same for you, isn’t it? With the holiday. The rec center’s closed.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, twisting Louis’ hoodie string around his finger. “Do you have plans?”

“My plans for the foreseeable future are to spend as much time with you as possible before you get sick of me,” Louis says, then he holds up his hand. “And the winter session of Junior Guards, but that doesn’t start until the end of January.”

“What if I don’t?” Harry asks. 

“Don’t what?” 

“What if I don’t get sick of you?”

Louis raises Harry's hand high in the air and twists his wrist, making Harry spin in a slow circle. “I suppose we’ll see. Now take me home. It’s cold.”

“You want to go home?” Harry pouts. 

“Your place, I mean. To put your groceries away. And then, wherever you want to go,” Louis says, biting his lip to stop from elaborating. If home is where the heart is, and his heart is with Harry’s, then it’s only logical. “Whaley’s, if you want. I’m hungry.”

≈≈≈≈≈

Just inside the entrance to Whaley’s is the ‘Please Seat Yourself’ sign, so Louis heads right for his usual booth by the window, but Harry grabs his sleeve, and says, “Can we sit someplace else?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, cringing when he remembers the last time they were here, sitting in that very booth. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says, following Louis as he weaves his way around the dining room to another booth on the far wall. “I just didn’t want to be by the door. Everybody walks by that table.”

Louis slides into the booth opposite Harry and says, “We don’t have to eat here. We can go someplace else. There’s that new—”

“I promise, it’s fine, Lou,” Harry says, tapping his fingers on the table top and looking towards the bar. 

“Maybe this is our new regular table then,” Louis says, waving at Shawn at the bar. “You want a drink?”

“Not really. Just a ginger ale or something,” Harry says. 

Shawn brings them menus and grabs their drinks while they decide what to eat, and after they order, Louis says, “So… I know I was joking earlier, but I’m glad we went to the store because I realized something.”

“What’s that?” Harry asks, chasing his straw with his tongue. 

Louis laughs, balling up the wrapper from his straw and throwing it at him. “That people are probably going to talk shit about me no matter what I do.”

“Oh, um…” Harry frowns at his ginger ale. 

“I just mean that there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing I want to do about it, really,” Louis says, thinking of Mrs. Adams and what she might truly think of him. He glances around the Whaley’s dining room, unsure exactly what he’s looking for, then reaches across the table, rubbing his fingertips over the back of Harry’s hand. “And they’re going to do it whether we’re together or not. Whether I’m out or not.”

Harry nods, flipping his hand over, and Louis traces circles on his palm. “Being out is like… It’s like I’m coming out all the time. So, it’s different, I guess. You haven’t run into anyone being a…” Looking around at the tables near them, Harry lowers his voice. “A homophobic asshole.”

“True,” Louis says. “I think, like… Okay, so on Thanksgiving? I had a little freak out. Like, I thought the kids on the bus might react poorly to Niall calling me your boyfriend. And they didn’t. It was fine. Then I was worried about him outing us at the retirement homes, and I… I don’t really know why. I guess—”

“You thought Niall was going to out us to the elderly people at the retirement homes?” Harry presses his lips together, scrunching his nose. 

“It’s not a ridiculous thought, right? Niall is the type to speak first, think later, and he’s loud.”

“Okay, you might have a point,” Harry says, pulling his hand away when Shawn appears with their food. 

“Can I get you guys anything else?” Shawn asks, sliding a basket of chicken wings onto the table. 

“No, I think we’re good,” Harry says, looking at Louis. “Lou?”

“Nope. Thanks, Shawn,” Louis says, picking the celery out of the wing basket and piling it up on Harry’s plate.

“You’re welcome. Hey, can I say…” Shawn leans across the table, looking from Harry to Louis. “You two are so cute together.”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “Oh, um…” 

“Thanks,” Louis says, kicking him gently under the table. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Shawn says. “Just, um… Restaurants are kind of gossipy. And word gets around. Plus, I’m gay, so, like, I don’t know. Small town solidarity?”

Louis snorts. “It’s cool, man. Promise.”

“Right. Okay,” Shawn says, nodding as he takes a step back. “Enjoy your meal.”

“Thanks, Shawn,” Harry says, biting his lip and giggling. He picks up a piece of celery, dips it in bleu cheese dressing, and asks, “Do you think it was the celery that gave us away?”

“Or me holding your hand,” Louis says, “Or it’s just word getting around, like he said. We’ve been dating for a few months. Officially.”

“Little more than three, yeah,” Harry says.

“Seems longer,” Louis says without thinking, closing his eyes when he hears himself. “God. Sorry.”

Harry laughs quietly. “If things work out, eventually, this year will be a tiny fraction of the time we’ve been together.”

“Hopefully,” Louis says.

“Yeah, hopefully.”

≈≈≈≈≈

“A sign of what’s to come?” Dimples deep in both cheeks, Harry grins at the twinkling snowflake lights around Louis’ front door, and when Louis swings the door wide, Harry says, “Holy Christmas.”

Louis snorts, following him inside. “She went a little overboard, but I couldn’t say no.”

“It’s so…” Harry stops, setting his bag down to pick up one of the snowglobes, and then another. “Gay.”

“Hmm?” Louis takes a snowglobe from Harry’s hand, peering at the tiny unicorn inside. 

“Rainbows and unicorns with rainbow manes and the tree is almost all Roy G. Biv…” Harry turns around, hands pressed to his cheeks, mouth hanging open. “It’s wonderful! Bo picked out all of this?”

“Yeah, I helped put it all up, and some of the ornaments were my mom’s, but Bo chose everything else.” Looking around the downstairs, Louis takes it all in. He really only saw it as flashing colorful lights and fake snow on his windows, somehow not noticing the abundance of rainbows. “Do you think it means she’s coming around?”

“I hope so,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ hand. “Is there more upstairs?”

“Nope, just down here. And the patio,” Louis says, leading him through the kitchen to the back door. He opens the door and plugs in the outdoor lights. “She said the pink lights gave the patio a _warm vibe.”_

“I love them. I love all of this,” Harry says, stepping over to the fence to touch the strand of pink lights. “Can we leave these up?”

“Whatever you want,” Louis says, unplugging them and pulling Harry back inside. “I know we said no gifts, but I got you something small.”

“Lou, no gifts means no gifts.” Harry scowls at him, but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s silly, really. It’s nothing big, just…” Louis crosses to the corner of the kitchen, opening the cabinet and pulling down a glass. “I thought you’d like them. They’re called Glencairn glasses, and normally people drink whiskey out of them, but I thought they’d do for tequila. I got four, you know, since you said you’ll probably break some.”

Taking the tulip-shaped glass, Harry holds the solid base between his index finger and thumb, tipping it side to side. “Thank you.” 

“Welcome,” Louis says when Harry hands it back. He puts it up in the cabinet with the others, then leans against the counter. “You want to just sit on the couch, enjoy the millions of tiny light bulbs?”

“Yeah, let's do that,” Harry says, heading for the living room while Louis turns off the kitchen light. Instead of sitting, Harry goes to the door and locks the deadbolt, and Louis lays down on the couch, patting his chest. 

Climbing onto the couch between Louis’ legs, Harry kneels and leans over him, surprising him with a quick and dirty kiss that has Louis clutching at Harry’s back. He tries to pull Harry down on top of him, but he doesn’t go where Louis wants him this time. Holding himself up and crawling backwards, Harry hooks his fingers in the waistband of Louis sweatpants and pulls them down, doing the same with his underwear, but they can’t go far with his legs spread. 

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, though he has no objections to anything he can think of involving his dick and Harry. It’s sudden, is all. 

“Want you in my mouth,” Harry mutters, leaning down and licking the tip of Louis’ limp cock. He circles his fingers around the base and lifts it, then, as if he has all the time in the world, Harry works Louis over, licking him until his dick is wet, sliding his lips up the underside, sucking gentle kisses from the base to the head as Louis hardens under him. With one hand, he cradles Louis’ balls, rolling them while he sucks the first few inches of Louis’ cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the tip until Louis jerks away, overwhelmed with the sensation. 

Tightening his lips around Louis’ girth, Harry sucks harder, taking more of him into his mouth, stroking his outer thighs with his fingers. It’s a romantic blow job, if there exists such a thing. Slow and tender touches, even with his tongue. Harry brings Louis to the brink of orgasm and stops, again and again, nuzzling and kissing his stomach, his hips, his inner thighs, until Louis can breathe again. 

Finally, Harry wraps his hand around Louis’ dick, jerking him off while he focuses his attention on the head, and this time, when Louis starts to fall over the precipice, Harry takes him all the way into his mouth, nose nestled in Louis’ pubic hair, swallowing around him as Louis comes. 

Louis stares up at the ceiling, trembling and trying to make himself move to get to Harry. He lifts his head to look at him, meeting Harry's eyes as jacks off, orgasm taking hold, come spilling onto Louis’ spent cock. Harry crouches over him, sucking and licking his own release from Louis’ skin. 

“Jesus Christ,” Louis mutters, finally able to catch his breath. 

Harry rests his cheek on Louis’ stomach and says, “Holy Christmas.”

Snickering, Louis sputters, “The holiest of blow jobs.”

“Amen,” Harry says, body shaking with silent laughter. 

≈≈≈≈≈

Not for the first time since Louis showed up at his apartment an hour ago, Harry reaches over, fingertips tickling Louis’ nape, followed by a whine and, somehow, an audible pout as he crosses his arms. 

“Can’t believe you cut it off,” Harry says, again not for the first time, still pouting when Louis glances over. The streetlight illuminates the furrow in Harry’s brow, and Louis cups the back of his own neck, rubbing his pinky finger up and down in his newly shorn, very short hair. 

“You said you liked it,” Louis reminds him, unnecessarily brushing his hair off his forehead. 

“I do,” Harry says. “I’m in mourning.”

Louis laughs. “That’s why you’re dressed all in black?”

“I was already planning to wear this, but it fits,” Harry says, smoothing the fabric of his black button up shirt. He turns in his seat, and it’s hard for Louis to keep his eyes on the road. “It’s really unfair that you look equally hot with long hair and short hair.”

“Thanks, baby,” Louis says, blindly reaching over to squeeze Harry’s thigh. 

“I went to bed last night with long haired, silver fox, surfer boy Louis, and tonight I get to go to bed with short haired, silver fox, ridiculously sexy in jeans and a sweater Louis,” Harry says, laying his hand on top of Louis’ and lacing their fingers together. “I’m very lucky. But I _will_ miss having your long hair to hold onto.”

“It’ll grow back,” Louis says, cheeks heating as he realizes he’ll miss feeling Harry’s fingers tangled in the ends of his hair. “I do this every year.”

“Next year, do you think you could give me some warning?” Harry asks, and the implication that they’ll still be together a year from now has Louis wanting to turn around and take Harry home to spend the rest of the evening letting him know how happy that idea makes him. 

“Sure,” Louis says, pulling his truck into the driveway of Zayn and Liam’s house. 

They look like they could be going to two different parties, with Louis in jeans and a red sweater while Harry’s dressed head to toe in black. His high-waist, wide leg trousers fit perfectly to the curve of his bum, and his heeled boots make him tall enough that Louis has to lift up onto his toes to kiss him. As they walk towards the door, Louis’ hand finds its way to Harry’s lower back, and he smiles, rubbing his thumb over the bumps of Harry’s spine. 

“Oh… I love your boots,” Zayn says when Louis follows Harry inside the house. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, taking a glittery gold New Year’s Eve headband from Zayn and putting it on. “I never get a chance to dress up.”

“We’ll have to do something about that, babe,” Louis says, pulling a sparkly tophat off the stack on the table by the door. 

“You two are cute,” Zayn says, patting Louis’ tophat and pinching his cheek. 

“Cute?” Louis laughs, picking up one of the New Year’s Eve noisemakers and blowing it in Zayn’s ear. 

Zayn swats Louis’ hand, knocking the noisemaker to the floor and laughing. “You are. You’re very handsome in that sweater. Red’s your color.”

“Okay, I’ll take handsome,” Louis says.

“Harry, you look amazing,” Zayn says, brushing his fingertips down the placket of Harry’s shirt. 

Louis pushes Zayn’s hand away, raising his eyebrows. “Hey.”

A loud laugh comes from the kitchen, and Louis turns in that direction, frowning at Liam, who says, “Come get a drink.”

“Zayn didn’t mean anything,” Harry says quietly, lips curling into a smirk. 

“Sorry,” Louis says. “I’m not used to being able to touch you in public, so it’s weird for someone else to do it.”

“You were jealous,” Harry says.

“No, I—”

“Yeah, you were,” Liam says, grinning as he pours sparkling water into a gold rimmed plastic champagne flute. Arguing won’t do Louis any good, especially when they’re right, so he shrugs and lets it go. “Splash of juice in your mocktail, Louis?”

“Sure. Make it pretty,” Louis says, and Liam nods, dropping a maraschino cherry into the glass. 

They let Liam and Zayn play host, and are making their way around the house, when Harry whispers in Louis’ ear, “I’m nervous. I don’t know most of these people.”

Niall and his date are in the living room on the sofa, but Louis stops, taking Harry’s hand. He points to the couple now talking to Zayn, and says, “Matt and Lisa. He works for the parks department. She works at a bank, I think. They have three kids and will probably leave at five after midnight.”

“Can we leave at five after midnight?” Harry asks, downing his glass of champagne. 

“I promised to take Niall and Savannah home,” Louis says, raising his glass and toasting Niall from across the room. “But if we can, yeah. Whatever you want.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “Who are those women in the kitchen?”

“Jodie and Jenny,” Louis says, smiling over at them. “They’re both teachers at the high school. Bo had them both. Jodie teaches chemistry, Jenny teaches biology, I think.”

“Are they together?” Harry asks just as Jodie adjusts Jenny’s New Year’s Eve headband, dropping a quick kiss on her lips. 

“Yeah, for like, forty years,” Louis says, leading Harry to the kitchen for introductions and another glass of champagne. 

As nervous as Harry says he is, he goes out of his way to talk to everyone, especially Niall’s date Savannah, who he spent Christmas with. Of course, the many glasses of champagne he drinks make it easier.

“Two holidays in a row,” Louis says when Niall drops down onto the couch beside him. “Must be getting serious with her.”

“I like her a lot,” Niall whispers loud enough that Louis is sure Savannah and Harry can hear him where they’re standing in the kitchen, just a few feet away from the couch. 

“I’m glad,” Louis whispers back, catching Harry’s eye and winking. “She seems cool. Chiropractor, right?”

“Yeah, and she surfs, so I’m excited to hang out with her on the beach once the weather warms up,” Niall says, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. 

“Ahh… Don’t get my hopes up, Ni,” Louis says, reaching up to scratch Niall’s scalp. “You two make it to the summer, I’m going to start expecting babies.”

Niall scoffs, then jerks his head around to look behind them. “Hope she didn’t hear you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis says, elbowing him gently. 

Frowning at him, Niall says, “You and Harry should have babies. Why do I have to have the babies?”

“Babies?” Harry appears in front of them, and Savannah takes the spot beside Niall, leaving Harry pouting down at him. 

“No babies here,” Louis says, laughing when Harry scowls and looks around, as if expecting to find someone hiding a baby. “You want to sit?”

Before Louis can stand to offer Harry his place on the couch, Harry plops his bum right onto Louis’ lap.

“Oops,” Harry says, holding his hand to his mouth, eyes wide. 

“Hi,” Louis says, tipping his chin up and smiling.

“Sorry. I’ll get a chair,” Harry says, trying to stand again. “Wasn’t thinking.”

Looping his arms around Harry’s waist, Louis says, “Stay. It’s fine.”

Harry turns sideways, resting his arm along the back of the couch behind Louis’ head. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, baby,” Louis whispers, kissing Harry’s cheek.

“What I was saying,” Niall announces, rolling his eyes and gesturing towards the room at large. “Before I was so rudely interrupted, is that you guys should have babies.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and Louis closes his eyes. This is not a conversation he wants to have tonight, not when Harry’s been drinking, and not when they’re surrounded by other people. He elbows Niall again, hard.

“Ouch!”

“Cramps again, Niall?” Louis asks loudly, shaking his head. “No more cheese dip for you.”

“You should try Lactaid,” Harry says, nodding. “My sister swears by it.”

Narrowing his eyes, Niall appears to give up, slouching against the back of the couch. He turns away to talk to Savannah, and Harry leans in, lips brushing Louis’ ear as he whispers, “It’s almost midnight. Do you want to go hide in the bathroom and makeout?”

Louis snorts, hiding his face in Harry’s neck. “Not sure that’s a good idea when you’re already rubbing my nipple right here on the couch.”

“Oh!” Harry pulls his hand away from Louis’ chest, holding it in front of his face and staring at it. “You might be right. We’ll just stay here.”

Whether Harry forgot Niall’s baby comment, Louis doesn’t know, but it seems that way. He sits in Louis’ lap, playing with Louis’ hair, chatting with Niall and Savannah until the small crowd starts to count down from ten, then he goes quiet, watching Louis’ face with shining eyes. 

“Ready?” Harry asks, and Louis nods, grinning up at him. On ‘two’, Harry leans down, cradling Louis’ jaw with one hand, and on ‘one’, he brings their lips together in a sweet kiss, much more chaste than Louis expected. He pulls back, resting his forehead against Louis’ and blinking slowly. “Happy New Year, Lou.”

“Happy New Year, Harry,” Louis says, nudging Harry’s nose and kissing him again. 

Because Louis agreed to be a DD, he corrals Niall and Savannah and herds them to Harry’s Jeep, then he has to go back inside for Harry, who somehow didn’t follow them out the door, and who has the keys. He leads Harry to the Jeep, hand in hand, to find Niall and Savannah making out against the driver’s side door, and when they don’t move, Harry presses the panic button on the key fob, blaring the alarm.

He giggles while Niall curses him, and Savannah looks endeared by them both, pushing Niall into the back seat. Harry tosses the keys to Louis, sending them soaring high over his head, but luckily Louis turns in time to see them land in the bushes and finds them quickly. 

It’s not a long drive to Niall’s place, but Harry falls asleep almost as soon as Louis starts the car. After they drop Niall and Savannah off, they head back towards Harry’s apartment, and right before they get there, they wind up stuck behind a line of cars where the highway’s been narrowed down to one lane so the police can do sobriety tests. 

“Great,” Louis mutters to himself, rolling the window down to air out the car. He’s perfectly sober, but he’s tired, and Harry reeks of champagne. 

“Are we home?” Harry asks, righting his seat and sitting up to peer through the windshield. “Is there an accident?”

“DUI stop,” Louis says, patting his back pocket. He pulls out his wallet, setting it on the center console so his license is accessible, and Harry immediately knocks it to the floor.

“Whoops!” Leaning forward, Harry knocks his head on the dashboard, whining and rubbing his forehead as he retrieves Louis’ wallet. 

“You okay?” Louis asks, letting the Jeep roll ahead with traffic. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, sticking Louis’ wallet in the cup holder. He flips on the light, reaching down between his feet. “Think some stuff fell out.”

“Oooooh… Twenty bucks,” Harry says, sitting up again and slipping the twenty in his pocket. “I’m set for life.”

“As long as I’ve got my license, I’m good for now,” Louis says, pointing at his wallet. “Will you check if it’s still in there?”

Harry opens Louis’ wallet, and his license is there in the little slot with the plastic window where it’s supposed to be, but he watches Harry shove his finger behind it, trying to wiggle it out. He leaves him to it, moving forward with traffic, getting closer to the flashing lights and the cop cars. 

“Lou…” Harry says his name sweetly, and Louis smiles, glancing over at him, surprised to see tears in his eyes.

“Baby?” Louis looks back and forth from Harry to the car in front of him, forcing himself to focus on driving. 

“You kept this?” Harry asks, holding up the pink Post-It with his phone number on it. 

“Yeah… Are you upset?”

“No, I… I don’t know,” Harry pouts, folding the paper and slipping it back into Louis’ wallet. He taps Louis’ license on the console, and Louis takes it from him before he drops it or forgets he’s holding it and flings it out the window. “I kept yours too.”

“I know. I saw it once when you tried to give me money for coffee, I think.”

“We’re very much a lot alike,” Harry says dreamily, rubbing his palms over his thighs and spreading his legs apart, though he’s confined by his seat, the console, and the passenger door. 

“We are,” Louis says, rolling up to the cop and handing his license over. It’s only another moment before they’re on the way to Harry’s apartment again. 

He fumbles a bit with Harry’s keys because there are about half a dozen of them, and he doesn’t know which is the right one, leading Harry to snatch them from his hand and find the correct key. However, he can’t seem to get it in the lock, so Louis takes over again.

“Should give you a key,” Harry says, sounding quite serious for someone who’s had a lot of champagne and who Louis was just thinking is lucky to live in a ground floor apartment. Navigating stairs with a drunk Harry doesn’t sound like a good time. 

“Here we go, baby,” Louis says, helping him through the door and watching as he walks straight back to his bedroom, leaving Louis standing there. Maybe he should give Louis a key, so Louis could lock the door after he leaves.

“Lou! Come to bed!” Harry yells, followed by a thump, and a whine that has Louis hurrying through the apartment. Thankfully, it’s only Harry stomping to try to get his boots off. 

Louis kneels on the floor, helping him out of his boots, and Harry lays back, starfishing across the bed, still in his clothes. “Harry, you can’t sleep in that.”

Giggling, Harry shouts, “You are correct, sir!” 

“You are very silly, sir,” Louis says, keeping his voice down, and hoping that Harry will get the hint. 

“You’re silly,” Harry whispers, getting frustrated with the buttons on his shirt and giving up, undoing his pants instead.

“I can be,” Louis says, crawling up beside him to slip his buttons free. 

“And sweet,” Harry says, letting Louis undress him the rest of the way. “But you’re not perfect.”

“Far from it,” Louis says, shaking his head as he tries to get Harry’s sleeves down his arms. He climbs back off the bed, pulling Harry to sitting. “Come on. Stand up. You’ve got to brush your teeth anyway.”

“I’m not perfect,” Harry says, flailing his arms and grabbing hold of Louis to help him stand. “We’re not perfect.”

“Very true,” Louis says, finally able to get Harry out of his clothes and into the bathroom. 

They brush their teeth and take turns peeing, and Louis goes to the kitchen to fill a couple of glasses with water because Harry will definitely wake up thirsty in the middle of the night. When he gets back to the bedroom, he finds Harry in bed, under the blankets, asleep. Careful not to wake him, Louis joins him, laying on his back and reaching over to turn off the lamp.

Apparently not asleep, Harry cuddles up to his side and rests his cheek on Louis’ chest. “I like the way we fit,” Harry says with a yawn, draping his arm over Louis’ stomach and his leg over Louis’ thighs. “Our imperfections line up, don’t they?”

“I think so,” Louis says softly, kissing the crown of Harry’s head. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	16. Chapter 16

≈≈≈≈≈

The winter program for Junior Lifeguards is much the same as the summer program, except it’s all indoors at the pool. It’s never been Louis’ favorite thing to do, but it’s always gotten him out of the house two nights a week during the time of year when he struggles even to get himself out of bed and down to the beach in the mornings. This year is much the same in that he doesn’t want to get out of bed in the mornings, but it’s because Harry’s there most days and he’s warm and smells good and Louis can touch him and kiss him whenever he wants. 

Junior Lifeguards starts the week before Harry’s birthday, and now that they’ve done the entire program together once, Harry shouldn’t be nervous at all, except when Louis shows up at six, he’s hiding out in the employee locker room, sitting on the bench, resting his head in his hands.

Louis sits down next to him, scooting over until their knees bump. “Stage fright?”

“No,” Harry says, knocking his knee against Louis’ and lifting his head. “Remember Misty Johnson from summer?”

“Yeah, this’ll be her third time in the program. She participated last winter, too,” Louis says, grinning proudly. She’s a strong swimmer and likes to help the shy kids, plus she has a wicked sense of humor. 

Sniffling, Harry says, “Her dad pulled her from the program, and like, her dad made a point to call me and tell me he doesn’t want his daughter associating with ‘the likes of me’ and I don’t know if he means because I’m gay or because of, you know, us.”

“Oh, fuck him,” Louis snaps, turning on the bench to fully face Harry, and pulling him into a hug. Belatedly, it occurs to him that they might not be alone, but he finds he doesn’t care, not when Harry’s so upset. He twirls his fingers through the short curls at Harry’s nape, pressing a kiss to his favorite spot behind Harry’s ear, wishing there was something he could do to fix things. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” Harry says, breath hot on Louis’ neck.

“It’s not. Not at all,” Louis says, rubbing circles on Harry’s lower back. “Are they members?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Harry says, lifting his head. 

“We should tell Niall,” Louis says, pressing his lips to Harry’s forehead. “In case they call him. So he’s prepared.”

“Really don’t want to,” Harry says, rolling his shoulders back, and sitting up straight. “But you’re right. I’ll do it now, I guess. Before any of the kids get here. You want to set up while I—”

“I’m coming with you,” Louis says.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Following him out of the locker room, Louis scoffs. “Sure I do.”

Harry leads him out of the employee entrance to the pool deck, and right across the hall to Niall’s open office door.

“Hey, man,” Niall says, lifting a hand to wave at Louis. “Ready for tonight?”

“Yeah, um… We had… Do you know if Misty Johnson’s parents are members?”

“Not anymore,” Niall says with a smug grin. “It was just her and her dad on the membership. Cancelled it earlier. I was going to tell you after class. Can you believe that asshole had the nerve to call me and tell me he didn’t approve of me hiring a gay? He actually said ‘a gay’ just like that.”

“Oh.” Harry drops into the seat in front of Niall’s desk, and Louis lays his hand between Harry’s shoulder blades, rubbing his thumb up and down. “Yeah, um… He called me too. Sorry, I—”

Niall slaps his hand on his desk, and says, “Don’t you dare apologize, Harry Styles. Harold? What’s your middle name again?”

“Not Harold. Harry Edward,” Harry says.

“Don’t you dare apologize, Harry Edward Styles,” Niall says, jabbing his finger at him. 

“Ooh… Middle  _ and _ last name,” Louis says, smiling down at Harry who’s still frowning. He sits in the chair beside him, and lays a hand on Harry’s knee, giving it a squeeze before leaning forward to tap his fingers on Niall’s desk. “Do you think it might be a problem having me here? Because of, you know, the divorce, and me and Harry?”

Niall shrugs. “I don’t think so. If it happens, we’ll deal with it then, but I don’t see it being an issue.”

“Were you going to quit?” Harry asks, frowning at him.

“If me being here could be a problem for you, I was going to ask Liam if he’d do it,” Louis says, then turns to Niall. “But if you think I’m fine to stay on…” 

“More concerned about homophobic dickheads, to be honest. I’m going to have Kayla change out the winter themed bulletin boards,” Niall says, picking up his desk phone, finger hovering over the button to call his assistant. “Put rainbows everywhere. Some flyers about tolerance. I don’t know. She’s good at this stuff. Smarter than I am.”

“Should give her a raise,” Louis says, standing and gesturing for Harry to come with him. 

“Thanks, Niall,” Harry says, hand shaking as he combs it through his hair. 

“Love you, man,” Niall says, waving him off. He presses the button on his phone, and Louis steps out of the office. 

“You okay?” Louis asks when Harry joins him in the hall.

“Not great, but better,” Harry says. “Can’t believe you were going to ask Liam to teach this class with me.”

“Yeah, well, he’s just as knowledgeable, and I… I’ve been thinking about the S.O.L.O. conference, too. Is Niall sending you?”

Shaking his head, Harry says, “No, which is fine. Terry asked me to speak last year, so I figured it was a one time thing anyway. And I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t either,” Louis says, following Harry through the pool area to the storage closet. “I think I’m going to ask Liam to go.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, passing him Derek the Dummy. “I feel like I ruined it for you.”

“Harry,” Louis says, looking around before pushing him inside the storage room. “You didn’t ruin anything. Got it?”

Harry nods, and Louis steps closer, bumping Harry’s chest with Derek. He cranes his neck, pursing his lips, and Harry indulges him with a quick kiss. 

≈≈≈≈≈

When they’re in bed that night, laying on their sides, facing each other, Louis says, “About today—”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” Harry mutters, scooting down under the blankets and hiding his face in Louis’ chest.

_ “You  _ don’t want to talk about it?” Louis wiggles under the blanket until they’re face to face again. “Okay, well, you don’t have to talk, but I wanted to look up Misty Johnson’s dad’s address, drive over there and kick his ass.”

“Louis,” Harry says with a sigh. “You can’t do that.”

“I wasn’t going to actually do it, but I wanted to. That guy was way out of line,” Louis says, hooking his finger under Harry’s chin. “Like, way, way out of line.”

“I know,” Harry says, blinking rapidly until Louis rests his hand on Harry’s cheek, rubbing under his eye with his thumb. “I hope Misty’s okay, you know? She’s what, fifteen?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Louis says, “Misty’s a good kid, despite having an asshole for a father.”

Harry moves closer, nuzzling their noses together and closing his eyes, humming quietly. “Tonight, when the kids were asking us about swim team, I was thinking…”

“Are we done talking about—”

“Yeah, Lou, I’m… Thank you,” Harry says, kissing the tip of Louis’ nose. “I do feel better.”

“But?”

“I was thinking we could race for the kids,” Harry says, and Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “You know, ’cause they were asking about swim team, but I don’t know when we’d do it, since we have the classes all planned out.”

“If you want to race, I’d rather do it after Junior Lifeguards class, when the kids have all gone home.”

“Why?” Harry asks.

“Don’t want to embarrass you when I kick your ass, babe,” Louis says, grinning and gently pinching Harry’s hip.

“If anything it’ll be me kicking your ass, but whatever makes you comfortable,” Harry says. 

≈≈≈≈≈

“One hundred meters? Two hundred? Up to you, Lou,” Harry says after the next class, pulling off his t-shirt and laying it on the bleachers as soon as the Junior Lifeguards clear out. 

“How about… You pick the stroke, I’ll pick the distance,” Louis says, laying his shirt beside Harry’s. 

“How about we do a two hundred meter medley,” Harry says, raising his eyebrows. 

“Let’s do it,” Louis says, tucking his thumbs behind the waistband of his shorts, and pushing them down. It’s been a long time since he’s worn a Speedo, but he’ll take any advantage he can get, including losing the slight drag of his board shorts. 

“What is—” Harry stares at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushing pink, voice a little squeaky as he asks, “Why are you wearing that?”

“We’re racing,” Louis says, reaching into his bag and pulling out his swim cap and goggles. He puts them on, adjusting his goggles. “What?”

“Nothing!”

Louis walks past him, heading for the starting blocks. 

“Oh my God,” Harry says behind him. “I remember you.”

“What?” Louis asks, stepping up on the fifth block. 

“Your ass,” Harry whispers, stepping up onto the block beside him. “I remember swimming against USC my sophomore year and there was this guy with this incredible ass, thighs to die for, and he had these dimples on his back at the bottom of his spine, and I… I can’t believe I remember your ass.”

“You’re lying,” Louis says, pushing his goggles up and trying to get a look at his own bum. 

“I swear,” Harry says, face turning pinker by the second. “Your Speedo was black and had the USC logo on the back right.”

“They all did. It’s why it’s called a uniform,” Louis says. “You’re really bad at shit talking.”

“I’m not talking shit! I just… I just remember your ass from twenty-five years ago. That’s… That’s not weird.”

“Sure,” Louis says. There is absolutely no way Harry’s telling the truth. 

“We swam the relay. We were side by side. I finished and climbed out of the pool, you were on the blocks,” Harry says, bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning. “And I was standing there staring at your ass. Our butterfly guy… I can’t remember his name, but he saw and gave me a hard time about it.”

“I would've been a senior when you were a sophomore?” Louis searches his memory, but his senior year of college is a blur of classes and graduation and planning a wedding that took place three months after he walked across the stage in his cap and gown and shook the university president’s hand. “I don’t remember you.”

“To be fair, I didn’t remember your face,” Harry says, leaning to the side and making Louis self conscious about his ass in a Speedo. “I wonder if, subconsciously, that day on the ferry, I recognized your bum.”

Hands on his hips, Louis says, “I’m never going to let you touch it or look at it again, if you don’t shut up and swim.” 

Harry gasps, holding both hands up in surrender. “Okay. Okay. How are we doing this?”

“Touchpads are on, time starts when we leave the blocks,” Louis says, putting his goggles on again. He bends his knees, swinging his arms. “On your count. Three, two, one, go?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry says, and Louis can see him in his peripheral vision, but focuses on his own position. Hips up, left leg back, arms perpendicular to the block, fingers curled around the edge. “Three, two, one, go!”

Louis dives into the pool. 

Two and a half minutes later, he’s standing on the pool deck, dripping wet, chest heaving, smile on his face because he beat Harry by almost four full seconds. 

“I still say it’s an unfair advantage,” Harry says that night after giving Louis his prize. 

“It’s a regulation suit, baby,” Louis says, climbing back into the bed and cuddling up to Harry’s side. 

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Reaching under the blanket, Harry pinches Louis’ ass, and says, “You distracted me with your ass. I said ‘go!’ and just stood there watching you dive in.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Louis says, and he didn’t. It never occurred to him that Harry wouldn’t be wearing the same thing. “Hey, as part of my prize, I want you to wear my Speedo.”

“I can’t wear that to the pool for work,” Harry says, turning his head and biting Louis’ nipple. 

“Ouch.” Louis tugs Harry’s hair, and says, “Not for work. Around the house. For my viewing pleasure.”

“I thought your prize was me fucking you from behind.” Harry kisses Louis’ nipple this time. “That’s what you said.”

“Okay, well… Will you wear the Speedo if I ask nicely?” Louis asks. 

“I’ll think about it,” Harry says, snuggling into Louis’ armpit. 

≈≈≈≈≈

On Harry’s birthday, Louis watches him slowly wake up and stretch out on his stomach, turning to blink his sleepy eyes at him.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Louis whispers.

“Thanks.” Cuddling closer, pressing his face to Louis’ chest, Harry says, “You haven’t been going surfing in the mornings.” 

“I know,” Louis says, because it’s easier to agree than to offer an explanation, and maybe Harry will leave it at that. 

“Why?” Harry asks, shifting to lay on his side, facing Louis.

“I do go. Just… Not when I’m with you,” Louis offers a partial truth. “On mornings when we haven’t spent the night together.” 

“I’m not going to tag along if you don’t want me there,” Harry says, frowning and smoothing the wrinkles in the sheets that reappear as soon as he moves his hand. 

“That’s not— You can always come with me or meet me there, Harry,” Louis says, hooking his finger under Harry’s chin. “You’re going to think I’m stupid when I tell you.”

“Depends if you’re being stupid or not,” Harry says, kissing Louis’ palm. 

“When I’m at your place, I don’t want to leave because then I feel like I have to ask if it’s okay for me to come back and you might say no.”

“That’s stupid.”

“See?” Louis groans and hides his face in the pillow. 

“What about when I’m here?” Harry asks, and his tone suggests that he expects another nonsense reason. 

Louis turns his head, and says, “I don’t want you to  _ not _ want to come with me. I don’t want to offer and have you say no and then go home or something.”

Pursing his lips, Harry stares at him, scratching his forehead. “What if I didn’t want to go, but also didn’t want to go home? What if I stayed in your bed while you went to the beach?”

“I’d rather stay in bed with you,” Louis says.

“Are you getting lazy on me?” Harry asks, and Louis’ mouth drops open.

“No,” Louis says, quickly reaching out and pinching Harry’s nipple. “I like surfing in the morning. I miss it when I don’t go.”

“So, go,” Harry says, rolling over and grabbing his phone from the nightstand. “It’s ten to seven.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

Harry shrugs, smirking as he asks, “Do you want me to come with you?”

“I want you with me all the time, Harry,” Louis says, then presses his lips together. He lifts his pillow and hides his head beneath it, but Harry just picks up the pillow. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Raising his eyebrows, Harry says, “You should try saying what you mean.”

“Because that’s easy to do,” Louis says with a roll of his eyes. “I want you to come surfing with me. Every morning.”

“Okay,” Harry says, tossing the blanket back and swinging his legs off the bed. “We need to swing by my apartment to get my board and my wetsuit.”

“Seriously?” Louis asks, sitting up.

“I may not want to go every morning. Sometimes I like to sleep in. But, yeah. I didn’t know I was welcome.”

“I thought I told you before,” Louis says, climbing out of bed.

“You said you didn’t mind when other people showed up,” Harry says. “That’s not the same as wanting me to be there.”

“Other people,” Louis scoffs and smacks Harry’s bum. 

For Harry’s birthday, Louis planned a date. Granted, it’s not a super romantic plan, but when he thought about taking Harry on a date, he went through all the standards in his mind and dismissed most of them. Since they both have the day off, he decided to make a day of it.

Surfing doesn’t last long. It’s cold and the waves are choppy, but they watch the sun come up, and when it breaks over the horizon, Louis paddles sideways, leaning over to kiss Harry’s cheek. 

“I’m freezing,” Louis admits, and Harry laughs. 

“Tomorrow we could watch the sunrise from your truck,” Harry says, turning his board around. “We could have coffee. Heat. Clothes.”

“Come on,” Louis says, laying down and heading towards the shore. There isn’t enough wave to bother riding, he’ll just paddle in. “Want to take you to breakfast.”

It takes longer than it should to shower, but Louis can’t complain. A naked Harry and mutual hand jobs under the warm spray are the perfect addition, and they don’t have to be anywhere at a specific time. He purposely didn’t plan anything that would require a reservation. 

“This is only the third time I think I’ve seen you in jeans,” Harry says, slipping his hands in Louis’ back pockets and pulling him closer. 

“They’re just jeans,” Louis says, scrunching his nose and trying not to smile too wide. 

“They’re sexy,” Harry says, squeezing Louis’ bum with both hands. 

Louis tips his chin up and narrows his eyes. “Are you saying my sweatpants aren’t sexy?”

“It’s different,” Harry says, putting a few inches between them and running the tips of his fingers beneath the waist of Louis’ jeans. “You’re sexy in everything, especially when you wear those dark grey sweats without underwear and I can see your dick, but—”

“Harry!” Louis swats his arm, taking a step back. 

“What? It’s true.”

“You need to get dressed,” Louis says, looking Harry up and down, from his dimples to his socks, with nothing on in between. “I’m going downstairs.”

Harry pouts, and Louis kisses him quickly, hurrying out of the room. They may not have reservations, but if he wants to do everything he has planned, they need to get going. 

“First stop, Starbucks,” Louis says, pulling into the parking lot. 

“We’re going in?” Harry asks, even as he follows Louis to the door. 

It’s his first time inside a Starbucks and he Googled ahead of time to see what it looked like, to check out the menu, and to find out if there were any weird things he should expect. 

Harry’s beyond thrilled to find out that they still have pumpkin spice lattes, and he insists on ordering two, though Louis still asks for what’s become his usual, despite the cooler weather. 

They sit at a little table in the corner, away from the door, and when the barista calls Harry’s name, Louis stands and goes to pick up his order. 

“You’re being weird,” Harry says suspiciously when Louis sits back down with all three beverages and two bagels. 

“I am not,” Louis says, frowning and taking a sip of latte. “It’s your birthday. I told you I wanted to take you on a date.”

“Oh…” Harry nods knowingly. “I didn’t realize the date was  _ now. _ I thought it was tonight.”

“All day, baby,” Louis says with a wink that makes Harry snort into his latte. 

“What are we doing?”

“Not telling,” Louis says, taking a bite of his bagel. 

“What if I get tired and need a nap?” Harry asks. 

“Planned that, too,” Louis says. 

“Oh.” Harry sips his latte, but Louis can still see his smile. 

After breakfast, Louis drives them to a pirate themed mini golf course, where Harry kicks his ass, and Louis learns that he used to play golf regularly when he was married to Steven. 

“He was a member of a country club,” Harry says after his third hole-in-one. “Golf was one of the only things we had in common. Haven’t played since before the divorce.”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Maybe surprise putt-putt wasn’t the best idea.”

“No, it’s fun!” Harry picks up his neon pink golf ball and stands on the sidewalk off the AstroTurf green. “This is fun. Wouldn’t mind going to a driving range one day. Those are my favorite parts of golf anyway.”

“What about batting cages?” Louis asks, trying to think of similar things available in town. 

“Are we doing that today?” Harry asks excitedly. 

“Next time,” Louis says, tapping his ball and sending it ricocheting around the low brick wall surrounding the hole. 

≈≈≈≈≈

“Where are we going?” Harry asks again, bouncing in his seat the second he shuts the door.

“Patience,” Louis says, pulling out of the mini golf parking lot. 

Where they’re going is at the end of the street, less than a quarter mile away. Louis parks his truck at a small beach access, and reaches behind his seat, passing Harry a Thermos and a sandwich. 

“What is this?” Harry asks.

“Tomato soup and a turkey sandwich,” Louis says, grabbing his own from the cooler. 

“Are we having a picnic?” Harry asks, climbing out of the truck.

Louis waits until he meets him at the back of the truck to answer. “You could call it that, but it’s more like a walk with food.”

“A walking picnic,” Harry says with a toothy grin. 

“Cute,” Louis says, pursing his lips and leaning in without thinking. He pauses a few inches away, then quickly kisses Harry’s waiting mouth. 

A walk on the beach, holding hands as soon as they finish their sandwiches, and sipping soup out of Thermoses while they make their way down to the pier, is quiet and romantic and exactly what Louis wanted in between what he’s been thinking of as the organized fun parts of their date. 

“Are we going fishing?” Harry asks, kicking a pylon and looking up at the wooden pier. 

“Not today,” Louis says, tightening the lid of his Thermos and putting it in the front pocket of his hoodie. With both hands free, he cups Harry’s face, pulling him into a kiss. “Thought it’d be too cold to be on the pier.”

“Okay,” Harry says, rubbing their noses together. 

On the walk back, they take their time, stopping to look through shells at the tideline, searching for shark’s teeth. They don’t find any, but Harry finds a broken piece of shell that he says is shaped like an L, and though Louis thinks it looks more like a V, he promises to keep it. 

The next organized fun part of the date is bowling, and this time, Louis wins every game. Not that he’s a great bowler, but Harry is very, very bad. 

“We could get the bumpers,” Louis offers after Harry bowls yet another gutter ball. 

“I’ve never been good at bowling,” Harry says, huffing as he sits down, crossing his arms and watching as Louis picks up his ball and waits for the pins to reset. 

Once the screen flashes his name, Louis does his best to use proper bowling form, whatever that is. He lucks out and gets a spare. It’s the final straw. Harry does everything he can to distract him from then on out, and when they finish those ten frames, they return their shoes, and Louis drives them to their next stop.

“Are we going to dinner?” Harry asks when Louis pulls onto the highway and heads towards the center of town. 

“Nope,” Louis says, keeping his eyes on the road. 

“Are we going to the carwash?” Harry asks when Louis slows down right before the entrance to the automatic wash.

“Nope,” Louis says as he turns into the parking lot just past it, backing into a space near the double doors. 

“Ooh… The Secondhand Unwinds,” Harry says, climbing out of the truck and looking up at the crooked sign above the door. “‘A Secondhand Shop for More Than Just Clocks!’”

“I want you to help me pick out a table,” Louis says, opening the door and ushering Harry inside. 

“That’s why you cleaned out the bed of your truck,” Harry says, waving at the woman behind the counter when she greets them. 

“Just looking, thanks,” Louis says, pointing to the room on the right. 

When he bought the bed, he took Harry into account, and when he bought his couch, he did the same. The couch needed to be long enough for Harry to comfortably lie down on, and the bed didn’t need to be big because they sleep practically on top of each other. A table, though. Louis visited a few furniture stores, but wasn’t impressed, and when he stopped here by himself, he couldn’t decide. At first, he didn’t want to ask Harry, figuring it’s all part of him growing into the person he is now that he’s no longer married to Bridget, but when he still hadn't bought one and Harry’s birthday was just a few days off, he decided it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“There are a few that are way too big, but I don’t know what to get,” Louis says, pulling a wooden chair out from under a matching round table and sitting down. 

“I don’t have a table,” Harry says, sitting across from him. “What makes you think I’ll know what to get?”

“Oh, um… Maybe this wasn’t the best idea for your birthday. Do you want to leave? We can—”

“No!” Harry reaches across the table and grabs Louis’ hand. “I’m just giving you a hard time, Lou. I like that you value my opinion.”

“I do,” Louis says, flipping his hand over and rubbing his thumb over Harry’s knuckles. “Do you think something like this or rectangular or maybe not wood? They have glass top tables.”

“Glass might be good ’cause it’s a small room,” Harry says, turning in his chair to look around. “Do you want to be able to have people over and everyone sit at the table together? Like, with Zayn and Liam and Niall, plus you and me, that’s five, so… six chairs?”

“If I have people over, they can sit on the stools or something,” Louis says, standing up again and starting towards the back of the room. “I don’t want a big table.”

Louis winds up getting a round table with a glass top and four chairs. Nothing fancy, but he’s thankful he brought Harry with him, especially when they’re carrying it into his townhouse.

“What made you decide you needed a table today?” Harry asks as they carefully turn the table sideways to fit it through the door. 

“Ah… The next part of our date.” Once they move the table under the hanging light and bring in the chairs, Louis says, “I’m making you dinner.”

≈≈≈≈≈

Louis pours them each a glass of wine, passing one to Harry, and says, “Out of the kitchen. You have to stay on that side of the counter.”

“Am I allowed to watch?” Harry asks, and when Louis nods, he sits on a stool, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the countertop. “What are you making?”

“Chicken stuffed with mozzarella cheese, wrapped in Parma ham,” Louis says, reading the recipe off of his phone. He picks up a potato and adds, “Homemade mashed potatoes.”

“No veggies?” Harry asks. 

“Sauteed spinach,” Louis says, pulling out pots and pans. He fills a big pot with water for the potatoes, and sets it over high heat, then opens the fridge. He bought just enough for the two of them, so hopefully he won’t screw it up. Lately, he’s been eating a lot of frozen vegetables and baked chicken because it’s easy and he doesn’t have to think about it. 

“Fresh basil?” Harry pokes at the basil. “What other surprises do you have for me?”

“Chicken is kind of slimy,” Louis says, bending down so he’s eye level with the cutting board as he slices into the side of each chicken breast. He fits a few basil leaves and pieces of fresh mozzarella into the little pockets he cut in the chicken. “And so is this cheese.”

“How are you cooking it?” Harry asks, trying to peer into the pot of not yet boiling water. 

“You’ll see,” Louis says because he can’t remember. He wraps the paper thin pieces of Parma ham around the chicken breasts, and sets them aside, scrubbing his hands clean before cutting the potatoes.

Checking the recipe, Louis reads down the page to the cooking instructions, and sets a saute pan on the stove, pouring a little olive oil in and swirling it around. While that heats up, he drops the potatoes in the boiling water, and takes a step back to make sure he’s done everything right so far. 

“I’m nervous,” Louis admits, dumping the spinach into a colander to rinse it. 

“Why?” Harry asks, sliding Louis’ wine glass closer. 

“Thanks,” Louis mutters, and takes a long sip while he thinks about it. “Guess I want to impress you.”

“I’m impressed. This whole day’s been…” Raising his eyebrows, Harry says, “Impressive.”

“Mission accomplished, then,” Louis says, frowning at the pan. “I’m not used to cooking on the stove. Miss my grill.”

“Did you sell it? I thought you were getting it when you moved your stuff,” Harry says.

“Yeah, me too,” Louis says with a huff. “Bridget sort of… She took out some anger on it with a baseball bat, and I found the pieces in the backyard when I got there. Wound up hauling it off to the dump.”

“Oh, wow, Lou,” Harry says, resting his arms on the counter. “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing,” Louis says with a shrug even as he clenches his jaw. “I can’t really be mad.”

Harry snorts derisively. “Yes, you can. You clearly are.”

“She has the right to be pissed and I— I understand her wanting to take it out on my stuff.”

“Okay… But you can be mad, too. You can get where she’s coming from and still be mad about it, Louis. I saw that thing. It was nice and I’m sure it was expensive, and she just destroyed it.” Harry looks at him like he expects a response, and Louis doesn’t know what to say. 

“I didn’t tell you about it when it happened because I didn’t want to think about it,” Louis finally says, heaving a sigh. “I— Okay, maybe I was mad about the grill, and I wanted to put it out of my mind.” 

“What was it you said your therapist wanted you to work on?” Harry asks, and Louis rolls his eyes because Harry knows. 

“Emotional honesty,” Louis answers. “I’m trying.”

“Tell me how you really feel, then,” Harry says, lips twitching. 

Letting his head fall back, Louis blinks up at the ceiling. “I felt stupid, ’cause when I walked out back and saw it, I was so sad. Like,  _ sad _ sad. But it’s just a grill, you know?”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Harry says.

“Really?”

“Yeah, Lou. It was yours. We all get attached to things,” Harry says. “When I moved out of Steven’s house, I forgot my bike, and it was winter and raining all the time, and I didn’t notice I’d forgotten it. A few months later, I realized I’d left it behind, and I was upset for weeks, so… You can still be mad about the grill.”

“You got a new bike,” Louis says.

“Yep. And I’m sure you’ll get a new grill,” Harry says, and points to the chicken. “That looks good.”

“Hope it tastes good.”

“What else does your therapist want you to be ‘emotionally honest’ about?” Harry hums, tapping his fingers. “Is there anything you want to talk about? Or ask?” 

Yes, but no way is he about to ask the first question that popped into his mind. He probably shouldn’t ask the second one either.

“How drunk were you on New Year’s?” Louis asks instead.

“Um… More than tipsy, but I wasn’t hungover. I didn’t fall down or anything. Did I do something embarrassing?” Harry asks, frowning and tugging on his lower lip. “I don’t remember doing anything dumb.”

“Do you remember when we were sitting on the couch with Niall and Savannah? Niall said something about—”

“Oh… Yeah, I remember,” Harry says. “You changed the subject. I assumed you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I didn’t,” Louis says, poking at the chicken with a spatula. “Not then. I… Is that something that you still want?”

“Babies?” Harry shrugs and says, “I told you I’d already given up on that.”

“Did you get to forty and decide you were too old to be a dad?” Louis asks, trying to keep his tone light. 

“No, but I… Well, I sort of assumed after my divorce that most guys I’d be interested in would be past that stage. Like, you’ve already been there, done that. Bo’s in college. You don’t want to do that all over again.”

“I never said that. I just—” Louis clears his throat, distracting himself with flipping the chicken in the pan. “I realized I’ve been telling Zayn and Liam and Niall to have babies and I— I’m the same age.”

“What are you saying?” Harry asks, combing his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to guess.”

“I’m saying that I’m not—” Taking a deep breath, Louis tries to get his thoughts in order, but it’s easier to talk if he’s not looking directly at Harry, so he stirs the potatoes. “I know things are still new with us. And I don’t think it’s something I’d want to do alone. Like, if we weren’t together. But in the future, if it’s something you want, I’d be open to the idea.”

“Lou, I…” Harry’s voice cracks. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I shouldn’t’ve brought it up,” Louis says, hoping his nervous blush is hidden by the steam of the cooking food. It was that or tell Harry he’s in love with him, and he clearly made the wrong choice. “It’s just been on my mind since Niall brought it up. I know it’s stupid. I’m forty-eight, for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s not stupid,” Harry whispers. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” Louis says, carrying the pot of potatoes to the sink to drain the hot water. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Louis adds some butter and sour cream to the potatoes and sets about mashing them with a tool he bought special for the occasion. Focused on that, he doesn’t notice Harry standing behind him until his hands are on Louis’ hips and he hooks his chin over his shoulder. 

“I’m not uncomfortable. And we don’t have to talk about it anymore,” Harry says, softly kissing the shell of Louis’ ear. “We can talk about it next year, if you want.”

Leaving the potato masher in the pot, Louis turns in place, resting his palms flat on Harry’s chest, and Harry circles his arms around Louis’ waist. “Next year is pretty far off in the future.”

“It is,” Harry says, gently knocking his forehead into Louis’ until he looks up. “Practically a whole year away.”

“Lots could happen between now and then,” Louis says, thinking that Harry could break up with him. Or move away. Bo could decide she doesn’t want to speak with him again. 

“Lots is going to happen,” Harry says, dropping a kiss on Louis’ nose. 

Sliding his hands down Harry’s chest and under the hem of his sweatshirt, Louis says, “There’s one other emotionally honest thing I should say.”

“What’s that?” Harry asks.

After a steadying breath, Louis tips his chin up. “I’m in love with you. I love you.”

Harry’s mouth drops open and his eyes go wide. “Finally.”

“Harry!” Louis pinches his hip, and Harry tries to jump away, but can’t with Louis’ arms around his waist.

“I love you, too,” Harry says, pulling him closer and hugging him tightly. “I’m so in love with you, it’s disgusting, honestly.” 

“Not disgusting.” Turning his head to kiss Harry’s jaw, Louis relaxes against him, feeling lighter now that he’s put himself out there and Harry says he feels the same. He kisses the curve of Harry’s neck, and says, “Now get out of here and let me mash these potatoes.”

Dinner is delicious and Louis is quite proud of himself. They eat at the new table, and afterwards, they share one of the cupcakes Louis picked up at the grocery store, then Louis sits beside Harry on the couch while he FaceTimes his mom and Gemma. It’s not as uncomfortable as he expected, and when Harry hangs up, they cuddle up on the couch to watch  _ Love, Actually _ on Louis’ laptop. 

Harry falls asleep about halfway through, but Louis doesn’t wake him or stop the movie. He sits there, not really watching it, combing his fingers through Harry’s curls where his head rests in Louis’ lap, and thinking about a future with him, what it might look like, if they might get a cat or a dog or both, where they might live, whether they might decide to get married, to adopt a child. When the movie ends, it pulls him out of his thoughts, and he wakes Harry, following him up the stairs to bed. 

≈≈≈≈≈


	17. Chapter 17

≈≈≈≈≈

The closing on the house happens a little more than a week later. Louis and Bridget meet at the lawyer’s office, but when he gets there five minutes early, the receptionist ushers him back to the small conference room where Bridget, Andrea, a representative from the bank, and the lawyer are already waiting. 

Sign here, initial here, over and over, until the lawyer passes them each a check for their percentage of the profit. Louis stands, considering shaking hands with the lawyer, but that might lead to an awkward handshake with Bridget and he’d rather avoid that. When he leaves, Bridget and Andrea are still sitting at the conference room table, whispering to each other. 

It’s a much less emotional process than the divorce hearing. This time, he goes to the bank, opens a savings account, and goes back to work. It’s just part of his day.

≈≈≈≈≈

After Harry’s birthday, he told Louis that he claimed Valentine’s Day, which is a bit of a relief. Louis doesn’t consider himself good with presents, but he doesn’t want to buy Harry roses again after that night in the hotel, so he buys a plant. 

“Oh… I’ll probably kill it,” Harry says, sticking his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “But it’s so pretty.”

“I asked, and they said we can plant it outside,” Louis says, gently touching one of the blue flowers. “I thought, you know, there’s that flower bed beside my patio, and it’s empty, so…”

“Thank you,” Harry says, kissing him quickly. “Do you want your present now or after dinner?”

Humming, Louis pretends to think it over. “Now.”

“Okay, hold on,” Harry says, starting for his bedroom. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”

Louis doesn’t have to wait long. He hasn’t even moved from his spot at the end of the kitchen counter when Harry cracks open the bedroom door. When he doesn’t reappear, Louis calls out, “Harry? Where’s my present?”

“Had to get it ready,” Harry says, peeking through the barely open door. “Come see.”

Slowly, Louis pushes the door open, and his steps stutter to a stop. There, in nothing but Louis’ Speedo, Harry stands, feet together, hands clasped behind his back, flushed from his chest to his ears. 

“Hi,” Harry says, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. 

Louis tries to speak, but nothing comes out. He blinks, and his eyes are drawn down to Harry’s dick, half-hard behind the stretchy fabric. 

“I…” Louis trails off, unable to look away. He clears his throat, and says, “I think I should— Can I touch?”

“Yes,” Harry says, shoulders relaxing. “I thought you didn’t like it. I was—”

“No!” Louis rushes over to him, cradling his face and pulling him into a kiss so forcefully that Harry stumbles into him, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist. “Was thinking you were probably right about the unfair advantage during our race. If you’d been wearing this at the pool, I might’ve forgotten how to swim.”

Harry beams, dimples deep in both cheeks. “Are you going to touch me or…”

Realizing that his hands are still resting on Harry’s shoulders, Louis smooths them over his chest, fanning his fingers across his ribs. He teases one fingertip along the tight waistband, dragging his thumb over the head of Harry’s dick. 

“Can I blow you?” Louis asks, cupping Harry’s balls and reaching around with his other hand to squeeze his bum. 

“No.” Harry shakes his head and says, “I have something else for you.”

“What?”

“Sit. I’ll be right back.” Harry says, pushing Louis towards the bed. As soon as Louis does as he’s told, Harry steps out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. A few minutes later, after Louis decides to scoot up to the headboard, Harry pushes the door open, cheeks an even brighter pink, Speedo replaced by emerald green satin and lace.

“Oh… Wow.” 

“Is that good?” Harry asks, combing his fingers through his hair. 

“It’s good. Really good,” Louis says, scratching the back of his neck. “Is this— Would you want me to, like, wear, um…”

“Lou, you don’t ever have to wear anything you don’t want to wear,” Harry says, looking down at himself and adjusting the way the lace lays across his hip. “I thought you might like this, but—”

“I do!” Nodding quickly and stretching his arms out, Louis wiggles his fingers. Lingerie’s never been a thing for him. Neither have Speedos, come to think of it. Maybe it’s just Harry, but the dark green lace in contrast with his winter pale skin and the satin straining to contain his bulge have Louis’ mouth watering. “Blow job?”

“No,” Harry says with a laugh. He raises his eyebrows and does a very slow twirl so that his ass, and the very small amount of lace covering it, are all Louis can see. “You’re sure this is okay?”

“Yes,” Louis says, nodding again. “You’re beautiful. Now can I blow you?”

“No,” Harry says. “Fashion show.”

“Fashion show?” Louis asks, glancing up to see Harry grinning back over his shoulder.

“I’ll try them on, you pick which is your favorite,” Harry says, cocking his hip to the side, hands at his waist. 

“Those,” Louis blurts out. “Those are my favorite.”

“We’ll see,” Harry says, swinging his hips as he walks out of the room. 

Louis thought, when Harry asked if they could stay in on Valentine’s Day, that he meant dinner and a movie, maybe sex, depending on how tired they both were from the day. He did not expect satin and lace. 

The next pair is all satin, pale blue, and barely holds Harry’s dick. When he turns around, Louis groans pitifully at the sight of the small triangle of fabric, and the thin ribbons keeping it all together. 

“How many are there?” Louis asks, adjusting himself in his sweatpants. 

“One more,” Harry says, spinning around again. 

When he appears once more in the doorway, it’s in red lace that sits low on his hips and comes down a little on his thighs, like tiny shorts. He turns, and the back is much the same, full coverage, if not for the fact that the lace shows absolutely everything, including his hard cock when he spins back around. 

“Red for Valentine’s Day,” Harry says. 

“Yes,” Louis says, crawling to the edge of the bed and grabbing Harry’s wrist, pulling him until he topples onto the mattress beside him. 

“Red’s your favorite?” Harry asks, and Louis shakes his head.

“The green,” Louis says, dipping down to kiss him. 

“I can change,” Harry offers, words turning into a moan when Louis cups him through the lace. 

In his sweatpants and t-shirt, Louis feels overdressed, even though he’s wearing precisely what Harry told him to. He rolls Harry onto his back, straddling his waist and looking down at him, still blushing, eyes glassy, lips bitten pink. 

“I love you,” Louis says, wondering if he’ll ever get used to it.

“Love you too,” Harry says, blinking up at him, and Louis knows that even if it’s something he grows accustomed to hearing, he’ll never tire of it. 

He kisses Harry again, sucking on his lower lip, tangling his fingers in Harry’s short curls while trailing his lips across Harry’s cheek, nipping at his ear, kissing down the side of his neck. Inhaling the scent of his skin, Louis hums, then slides his hands down Harry’s arms, linking their fingers together and moving his hands to rest above his head. He makes his way down Harry’s chest, stopping to play with his nipples, but only for a moment. As he moves down, his t-shirt rucks up, and he can feel the scratch of lace on his stomach, the hard length of Harry’s cock trapped beneath it. 

Louis wedges his knee between Harry’s legs, spreading them apart and sitting up to kneel between them. Rubbing his palms up Harry’s thighs, he pushes his fingertips under the edge of the lace, taking it all in. 

“Gorgeous,” Louis says, heat rising in his cheeks. “Is it weird if I want you to keep these on?”

“No,” Harry says, wrinkling his nose, but his smile breaks through anyway. “Depends what you want to do.”

“Oh…” Louis squeezes Harry’s thighs, and says, “Turn over.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah,” Louis says, moving out of the way. “Hands and knees, if that’s okay.”

Scrambling to get on all fours, Harry stops to give Louis a quick and dirty kiss before positioning himself in the middle of the bed and wiggling his bum. Louis grins when Harry looks back over his shoulder at him, and smooths a hand over the curve of his ass, pressing his fingertips along his crack, pushing the lace between his cheeks and dragging it over his rim. Harry whines, lifting his hips, and Louis laughs quietly, crawling between his legs.

With his hands on Harry’s inner thighs, he encourages him to spread his legs a little more, then Louis takes a shaky breath, nervous for the first time in a while. Despite his obsession with Harry’s taste and smell, he’s yet to try rimming him, and since that brief time in the hotel, Harry hasn’t done it to him again. He really loves sucking Louis off. It might be his favorite thing, but Louis hasn’t asked. And he loves getting fucked, to the point where Louis has to ask ahead of time if he wants Harry to top. It’s funny learning all of these little quirks about each other, especially the things that Louis never knew about himself. They have similar sex drives, which is just another way they’re compatible. More of their time is spent cuddling and talking, only having sex a few times a week. 

Louis debates with himself whether to pull the lacy underwear off, but they look so pretty that he decides to leave them. He can always move them out of the way later. He leans down to kiss the very top of Harry’s crack through the lace, and Harry stops shaking his bum, gasping quietly. 

Palming Harry’s cheeks, Louis pulls them apart with his thumbs. Louis bends down, tentatively licking over the lace, pushing it with his tongue until he can feel Harry’s skin underneath it. Musky and salty and warm, Louis sighs, letting the saliva gather in his mouth, getting Harry and the lace wet with it. 

Moaning, Harry drops down to his forearms, and Louis sits up, reaching around to the front of his thighs, and pulls so that Harry’s flat on his stomach, legs spread. It’s more comfortable that way, and he dives right in, licking the lace and Harry’s rim over and over again until his tongue tingles, and he tries to tug the underwear to the side, frustrated when that isn’t enough. Beneath him, Harry grunts, raising his hips and pushing the lace down. Louis moves to let him bring his legs together enough to get them off, and then he’s right back where he was, on his stomach between Harry’s thighs, face buried between his cheeks. 

As hot as the underwear are, it’s so much better without the lace barrier between his tongue and Harry’s rim. Louis pries his cheeks apart, tracing circles with his fingertip and pushing it just past the initial tightness, licking around it to get Harry wet, and replacing his finger with his tongue. Groaning, he fucks his tongue in and out of Harry’s tight hole, pulling back and licking down behind his balls, up to the top of his crack. Harry’s skin is pink and it takes Louis a moment to realize why. He sits up, cringing at the sight of beard burn on his ass cheeks. Caught up in his own pleasure, Harry grinds against the bed, seeming unbothered by the chafing on his sensitive skin. 

“Roll over, baby,” Louis says, finding the lube in the bedside table drawer.

He helps Harry onto his back and kneels between his legs, slicking two fingers, and rubbing over his crack, ducking down to suck the head of his cock between his lips while working one finger past his rim, searching for his prostate. When he finds it, he takes more of his dick into his mouth, fitting a second finger inside and pressing against his spot. The combined sensations have Harry coming almost instantly, trembling with it as he fills Louis’ mouth. Louis swallows around him, licking the traces of come from his cock. 

Grabbing hold of Louis’ short hair, Harry yanks until Louis crawls over him, holding himself up with one arm, jerking himself off, the head of his dick smearing precome on Harry’s stomach. Harry surges up, kissing him, moaning when their tongues meet, and Louis tries to do more than pant into his mouth as heat builds in the pit of his stomach, and he comes, dripping over his fist onto Harry’s spent cock. 

Chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath, Louis lays beside him, come-covered hand over his still racing heart. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Harry says, grinning when Louis turns his head to look at him.

“Think I scratched up your bum with my beard,” Louis says.

Harry shrugs. “Sexy souvenir.”

“Right,” Louis says, laughing and shaking his head. “We should shower.”

“We should,” Harry agrees, but neither of them make a move to get off the bed for another few minutes. 

There’s still dinner to make and wine to drink and, if he’s lucky, maybe Louis can convince Harry to wear the emerald green underwear for the duration of the evening.

≈≈≈≈≈

The winter session of Junior Lifeguards wraps up just before spring break, the one off-season week that they open the beach service. It’s never as busy as summer, which is good considering that they don’t have nearly as many employees in mid-March. 

Bo plans to work all week. She asked if she could be scheduled every single day, but Louis laughed and told her no. 

Neither of them mentioned it at the time, and neither of them have brought it up since, maybe because of their age, maybe because in the grand scheme of things half a year is merely a blip in time, but they passed the six month mark together as an official couple right around Valentine’s Day. Since then, they haven’t spent a night apart. There’s no plan to it, but if Louis gets off work before Harry, he goes home and Harry comes over. If Harry gets off work first, he goes home and Louis goes to his place. 

Their laundry baskets are full of each other’s clothes, and their refrigerators are stocked with each other’s favorites, and more often than not, Harry cooks dinner shirtless in his striped cotton grandpa pajama pants at Louis’ place, though Louis does make a point to cook sometimes. Especially now that he has a brand new grill. 

Harry pokes his head out the patio door, passing Louis the tongs he asked for. “Someone’s at the door. Do you want me to get it?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, flipping the steaks. “Probably somebody has the wrong building. They want 17A instead of 7A or something.”

Through the window in the patio door, Louis watches Harry walk to the front door, smiling at the sight of his bare back and his bum in his pajama pants. He turns back to the grill, moving the steaks to a cooler spot so they don’t burn. When he looks up, he almost jumps out of his skin. 

“Hey,” Bo says from the open patio door. “Thought I’d stop by. Didn’t know  _ he’d  _ be here.”

Behind her, he sees Harry’s feet just before they disappear upstairs. “Don’t be rude. If you’d told me you were coming, you would’ve known. Most days, Harry’s here or I’m at his place.”

“I wasn’t planning to come over, I just stopped by,” Bo says, stepping onto the patio. She swings the hammock and carefully sits in it, not lying back. “Mom and I were arguing, and I sort of took off.”

“What happened?” Louis asks, laying the tongs down and glancing inside, waiting for Harry to come back downstairs. 

“She’s being a bitch about—”

“Bo!” Louis props his hands on his hips, glaring at her. “Don’t talk about your mom like that. Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Bo says. “I told her I was only staying with her Thursday night, and she got all pissed off because she thinks I shouldn’t spend so much time at Mikey’s. Like I owe you guys three nights a piece or something.” 

“She misses you,” Louis says, poking her calf with his toe. “You said you were going to come home all the time and you’ve only been here on breaks.”

“Yeah, well, the whole divorce kind of screwed up my plans,” Bo says, pursing her lips and raising her eyebrows. 

Wincing slightly, Louis says, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Shrugging, she shuffles her feet on the concrete of the patio, and says, “I have fun at school. It’s not a bad thing, staying there on weekends.”

Harry appears at the foot of the stairs, fully dressed, and Louis steps inside, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to head home,” Harry says, nodding towards Bo. 

“Harry, don’t— I made steaks,” Louis says, as if that will make him stay. “Was she rude to you?”

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Just thought you might need some time alone with her.”

“Baby,” Louis whispers.

“I’m not mad,” Harry says, grabbing his keys from the little dish on the counter. “Promise. See you tomorrow?” 

“I wish you’d stay,” Louis says, following him through to the front door. “Hey, wait.”

Hand on the doorknob, Harry turns around, and Louis tips his chin up, waiting for a kiss. Harry indulges him, and murmurs, “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Louis says. “I’ll call you later.”

Seven months probably isn’t enough time to expect Bo to be accepting of his relationship with Harry, but it sure would be convenient if she was. He joins her on the patio, pulling the steaks off the grill.

“Did Harry leave?” Bo asks, climbing out of the hammock. 

“Yep.” Louis carries the plate inside, and reaches into the oven with his tongs to pull out the baked potatoes. “You want to eat?”

“I… I guess?” She finds the silverware and takes it to the table. “Did he leave because of me?”

“Yep,” Louis says again. “I know it’s weird, but you’d like Harry, if you gave him a chance.”

“I  _ do _ like Harry,” she says, sitting at his new table. “That’s part of the problem, I think. He’s— I mean, other than him being your— You know, mister doesn’t have quite the same impact as mistress.”

Louis snorts, clapping his hand over his mouth and nose. “Sorry.”

She rolls her eyes and he doesn’t mention it. “Anyway. Aside from all of that, I like Harry. I can’t help thinking mom would be pissed off though.”

“You aren’t responsible for your mom’s feelings,” Louis says without thinking. He looks up, realizing his words. “What I mean is, you can do what you feel like you need to do, as far as not talking about Harry around her, stuff like that.”

“I know,” Bo says, nodding towards the door. “I feel bad that he left. You made him dinner and now you’re giving it to me.”

“I can’t speak for him, but I think he assumed you’d be uncomfortable with him here,” Louis says, setting their plates on the table. 

“Isn’t it bound to be uncomfortable at first?” Bo asks, poking at the steak on her plate. “If you ask him to, will he come back?”

“Maybe,” Louis says, automatically checking his pocket for his phone. “Did you want me to call him?”

“Yeah, go for it,” she says, standing and carrying both plates back into the kitchen. She pulls down another plate, and while Louis watches, she starts dividing the food three ways. 

Louis presses call as he steps out onto the patio, and Harry answers almost instantly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby, can you— Are you home already?”

“I’m waiting in the Drive Thru line at McDonald’s,” Harry says.

“Did you order?” Louis asks, pacing on the small patio.

“No,” Harry says, and Louis can hear the pout.

“Bo wants you to come back and eat dinner. All three of us.”

“Really?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, she’s splitting up the food right now. Her idea.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a few,” Harry says. “Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby. Sorry about all of this,” Louis says.

“It’s… It’s uncharted territory, I suppose. This is new to all of us.”

“Alright. Hurry up. I miss you,” Louis says, and Harry laughs, hanging up on him.

Back in the kitchen, Louis helps Bo by slicing the steaks into thin strips while she mashes the potatoes in a big bowl, mixing in butter and sour cream. They’re still working when Harry opens the front door. 

“Hi,” Harry says, waving and taking off his shoes. He kicks them into the pile with Louis’ where the TV should be, and when he joins them at the counter, Louis can see him hesitate before dropping his keys into the bowl. “Sorry if I made things weird by leaving earlier.”

“Sorry if I made things weird by showing up unannounced,” Bo says, and Louis elbows her, giggling quietly. 

“I like your table,” Bo says, taking a seat beside Louis.

“Thanks, um… Harry picked it out,” Louis says, looking from Bo to Harry, who finally sits down across from him, on the other side of Bo. 

“Should've known,” Bo says, nodding. “I remember when, uh… Never mind.” 

Louis laughs when she stuffs a forkful of mashed potatoes in her mouth. “You remember what?”

Bo swallows, glancing at Harry. “When you and mom bought the couch and you drove us to like, a million different places, and you didn’t like anything enough to buy it. The only reason you wound up getting the one you did was because I fell asleep on it in the store.”

Louis scoffs. “I have my own set of criteria. That couch was comfortable enough for a cranky kid to pass out on.”

“What was his table criteria?” Bo asks Harry, and Harry holds up a finger, swallowing and reaching for his glass of water. 

“‘Maybe not wood’ and ‘not too big’ were all he said,” Harry says, biting his lip in the way that Louis knows means he’s fighting not to grin too big. 

Scowling at them both, Louis says, “I see how it is.”

“What?” Bo asks innocently, just as Harry says the same. They look at each other, then back to Louis. 

Louis heaves a sigh. “Maybe I won’t give you your birthday present.”

“He must be talking to you,” Harry says to Bo. “My birthday’s in February.”

“Mine’s next week,” she says, narrowing her eyes at Louis. “Trying to decide if any present is worth the price of making fun of you.”

“Ugh. Fine. Make fun of me,” Louis says, pressing his lips together, fighting his smile. If they want to gang up on him and pick on him, at least they’re getting along. “I thought I’d take you shopping. If you have time while you’re here. Whatever you want or need, within reason.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Bo says, reaching over and ruffling his hair. “Mine’s still shorter.”

“I, um…” Harry clears his throat. “I heard you donated it. Do you like it short?”

“I do,” Bo says, pulling one of the slightly longer pieces. “Feels like it fits me more, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Harry says, and Louis sits back, watching them talk, letting the two of them lead the rest of the evening. 

After helping clean up, Bo turns to Louis and, sounding far too old, says, “If it’s okay, I’d like to speak to Harry alone.”

“What?” Louis asks, unnecessarily wiping the stovetop again. 

“It’s alright with me, Lou,” Harry says, leaning his hip against the counter. 

“Okay,” Louis says with a shrug, starting for the stairs. He climbs to the top, and feeling sneaky as well as curious, he shuts his bedroom door from the outside and squats down in front of Bo’s room so he can’t be seen. 

“That was less uncomfortable than I expected,” Bo says, and Harry sputters a laugh.

“Agreed.”

“I just want to ask you some stuff,” she says, and Louis can picture her expression, her hands on her hips, looking so much like him. He wonders if Harry sees it too. “Do you love my dad?”

It’s like watching them, only without seeing, because Louis knows Harry’s mouth dropped open, and that he’s struggling to decide how to answer. Finally, he says, “I do.”

“He didn’t say anything to me, but I can tell he loves you,” Bo says, and Louis holds his hand to his mouth. 

“He does,” Harry says, and the fondness in his voice makes Louis warm all over. 

“Are you going to marry him?” she asks, and it’s all Louis can do to stop himself from barrelling down the stairs to stop her from saying another word especially when Harry doesn’t answer right away. He’s tried not to think about it too often, as it would be the second marriage for them both, and they haven’t been together for a year yet, but he really does want to marry Harry. If Harry asked, he’d do it tomorrow, but he’s willing to wait.

“That’s a bit personal,” Harry says, huffing a laugh, and Louis can imagine him crossing his arms, hunching his shoulders a little. 

“Yeah, well, I just want to make sure, you know, that you’re serious about him,” Bo says, and Louis closes his eyes, hoping equally hard that Harry does and doesn’t answer her. 

“I am,” Harry says. “Very serious. But we haven’t been together a year. And I think the next logical step would be living together, don’t you?”

Bo hums, and says, “I suppose.”

“Do I pass whatever this was?” Harry asks.

Bo must nod or mutter her answer quietly enough that Louis doesn’t hear because the next thing he knows, she’s shouting, “Dad! You can come down now!”

He has to fake leaving his room, crawling over and opening the door before getting to his feet and smoothing his face, trying to look concerned instead of happy, since they apparently both trust him enough not to eavesdrop. 

“Mikey’s waiting for me,” Bo says, wrapping her arms around Louis’ shoulders and hugging him tightly. “See you on the beach?”

“I’ll be there,” Louis says, kissing her temple. 

“Bye, Harry,” Bo says, shoving her hands in her pockets as she backs away from Louis. “See you?”

Harry nods. “Happy birthday, if I don’t see you before.”

“Thanks,” Bo says.

“Drive carefully,” Louis says, walking her to the door.

“I always drive carefully, Dad. I’m like, the most careful, I promise,” she says, hugging him again before she steps outside, shutting the door and not giving him the chance to watch her leave. 

Louis turns and leans back against the door, watching as Harry tilts his head to the side, coming closer until he’s only a few feet away. Scrunching his nose, Harry says, “You were listening the whole time.”

“How’d you know?” Louis asks.

“Didn’t until just now,” Harry says, and Louis rolls his eyes, pushing away from the door and poking him in the ribs, making him jerk away. 

Later that night, when they’re lying in bed, Louis kisses the back of Harry’s shoulder, and asks, “Do you want to move in here when your lease is up?”

Wiggling in his arms until he turns completely around to face Louis, Harry says, “Do you really want me to or are you just asking because of what I said to Bo?”

“Of course I want you to,” Louis says, pinching Harry’s nipple. “You could move in right now. Yesterday, even. Last week!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Harry says, kissing the tip of Louis’ nose. “And yes. I’d love to live with you.”

“I love you,” Louis says, thinking about the rest of the conversation between Harry and Bo, and whether Harry will want to marry him one day. 

≈≈≈≈≈

With a couple of months left on Harry’s lease, he moves into Louis’ place slowly, using laundry baskets and the back of his Jeep to bring a few things over every day. By the time June arrives, he’s all moved in, and they celebrate Harry getting most of his security deposit back by going out on the sailboat again. This time, he fucks Harry from behind, both of them being as loud as they want to be, surrounded by nothing but the ocean. 

A few weeks later, they get up early, skipping the sunrise to drive to Mikey’s place in the dark where they pick her and Bo up to drive to Riverton for Pride. It’s the first time Louis has seen Mikey in more than a year, and Harry’s first time meeting her. Somehow, she looks the same, though she’s got longer hair now, almost as long as Bo’s used to be, and it’s tied back in two braids, fastened with little rainbow ribbons. 

“Hi, Mister Tomlinson,” Mikey says, climbing into the back seat. “Long time, no see.”

“If you worked the breakfast shift on Sunday, you’d see me every week,” Louis says, looking over his shoulder. “And for the millionth time, please call me Louis.”

“Hi, I’m Harry,” Harry says, turning around in his seat and stretching his arm out to shake Mikey’s hand. She looks at him askance and Bo cackles. 

“Shake his hand,” Bo says, giggling as she puts on her seatbelt. “He’s cool. I promise.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mikey says, though from what Louis can tell, she’s skeptical. 

“Have you been to Pride before?” Harry asks, adjusting the rear view mirror and backing out of Mikey’s drive. 

“Nope,” Mikey says, and Bo shakes her head. 

Louis faces forward again, reaching over to pat Harry’s thigh. “I’ve never been either.”

“Duh,” Bo says, and Mikey and Harry snort simultaneously. 

“It’ll be fun,” Harry says, pulling out onto the highway. “Wear sunscreen. Make sure your phone is charged. And we’ll pick a place to meet if anyone gets lost.”

Tugging on the hem of his new shirt that reads, in rainbow lettering, I’M GAY AND SO IS MY BOYFRIEND, Louis says, “We can figure it out when we get there.”

“True,” Harry says, reaching over and patting Louis’ leg. “I feel sort of like a guide since I’m the only one who’s been to pride before. I’m the Pride Guide!”

Quiet groans come from the backseat, and Louis turns to scowl at the girls, but Bo just stares back at him, blinking slowly. Louis shakes his head, and laces his fingers with Harry’s. “We should’ve gotten you a shirt made that said that.”

“Oh… Missed opportunity.” Harry pouts, and Louis grins, squeezing his hand. 

Harry takes them to Starbucks on the way out of town, and they’re on their way. It’s a few hours, but Louis lets Bo and Mikey have control of the music, and before they know it, they're in Riverton. 

Luckily, the city allows free parking downtown on the weekend, so there’s no need to worry about paying the parking meter, and Harry finds a space close enough to the festival that they agree to meet back at the Jeep if anyone gets lost. 

“Okay, girls,” Louis says, pulling out the cash he brought for the occasion. “Since it’s my first Pride, too, I wanted to get you guys some souvenirs, but I figured it’s better if you buy your own. There’s fifty for each of you. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Thanks, Dad!” Enormous grin on her face, Bo snatches the money from his hand, passing half to Mikey. 

“Thanks, Mister Tom— Louis,” Mikey corrects herself, folding the money up and sticking it in her pocket. She throws her arms around Louis’ neck, hugging him hard enough that he staggers slightly, surprised at the force of it. “Thanks, Louis.”

“Welcome,” Louis says, patting her back and smiling at Bo over Mikey’s shoulder. “And really, you can spend it all in one place, if you want.”

Beside him, Harry snorts, and Mikey laughs, letting go of him and reaching for Bo’s hand. Of course, Louis has had his assumptions about Bo’s relationship with Mikey, but as this is the first confirmation of anything more than friendship between them, he feels the need to embarrass his daughter. Just a little.

“Harry, look at them!” Louis applauds, then clasps his hands together in front of his heart. 

Thankfully, Harry picks up on his need to give Bo a little bit of a hard time, and points at them, gasping. “They’re holding hands!”

Mikey laughs, swinging their hands between them, but Bo narrows her eyes and says, “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

“Because you knew I’d think you guys were adorable?” Louis asks.

“Exactly.” Bo combs her fingers through her short hair, stomping her foot once, and drawing Louis’ attention to her black boots. “I’m not  _ adorable.” _

“Yeah, you are,” Mikey says, and Louis cackles.

“Bo-Bo, you can be adorable and butch at the same time,” Louis says, messing up her hair, though it looks pretty much the same when he’s finished. 

“Whatever,” Bo says, letting go of Mikey’s hand. She takes off her flannel, tying it around her waist, and Louis huffs.

“Is this how you officially come out to me?” Louis asks, reading her strategically ripped t-shirt that says ‘NOBODY KNOWS I’M A LESBIAN’ in messy print.

“Please,” Bo says, rolling her eyes and taking Mikey’s hand again. “Like you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I hope you told your mom.”

“I was planning to get her something today,” Bo says, pointing ahead of them at the many tents and booths flying rainbow flags. “Like a mug or a t-shirt that says ‘Proud Mom’ or something. And then tell her when I give it to her.”

“I, um…” Louis steps a little closer, holding Bo’s gaze. “I don’t want her to hold what happened between her and me against you. I don’t think she will, but just in case she doesn’t react the way you think she should… People don’t always do well with surprises. You know how your mom is.” 

“I know,” Bo says, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him. “I think she’ll be okay.”

“Love you, Bo-Bo,” Louis says, backing up and taking Harry’s hand, starting up the sidewalk towards the crowds, walking behind Bo and Mikey. He calls out, “Maybe you should get your mom a decal for her car? I’ll see if I can find one. Want one for my truck.”

“You think you’ll find one that says ‘Proud Dad of an Adorable Baby Butch’?” Harry asks, laughing when Bo glares back over her shoulder at him. 

“Might have to make my own,” Louis says, lifting Harry’s hand and kissing his knuckles. Slowing his stride, he lets Bo and Mikey get further ahead of them, then pulls Harry to a stop, facing him and taking his other hand. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the girls, but… with your nephews coming to visit next month, and Bo staying with us on and off all summer, I’ve been thinking.”

“About?” Harry steps closer until the toes of their shoes touch. 

“Remember that house we looked at? The one that’s so close to the beach?” Louis chews on his lower lip, waiting until Harry nods to say, “It’s for sale. And I want to buy it.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, but I want us to buy it. Together,” Louis says, and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. 

He squeezes Louis’ hands, and says, “You want to buy a house. With me.”

Nerves makes Louis’ stomach twist, but he carries on, hoping for the best. “Well, I want to go look at it again, and I want to have it inspected. And, I mean, I want you to  _ want  _ to buy a house with me. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, I was just—”

“Lou,” Harry interrupts, letting go of Louis’ hands, and making his heart stop for a split second before he drapes his arms over Louis’ shoulders instead. “I saw the listing for the house. I was going to call and ask if they’d rent it to us because I thought buying would be too much of a commitment.”

“Oh, I—”

“For you,” Harry says, gently knocking their foreheads together. “I thought it might be too much of a commitment for you.”

Louis huffs, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist. “I want to buy a house with you. I want to marry you. You know that.”

“Okay, then,” Harry whispers, kissing him softly. “We’ll buy the house. And then maybe next year, in the spring before it gets unbearably hot outside, we’ll get married in the backyard.”

“I’d love that,” Louis says, pulling him into another kiss. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Harry says, lacing their fingers together and bumping Louis’ hip, starting towards Bo and Mikey where they’re waiting at the end of the sidewalk. 

≈≈≈≈≈

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!!! Extra love for those who read as a WIP! I hope you liked it!
> 
> I've got a couple of ideas for future coda/timestamps, but no definite plans on what or when.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post is here if you'd like to share!](https://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/634887180323520512/the-devil-and-the-deep-blue-sea-by)
> 
> [Art post is here!](https://kingsofeverything.tumblr.com/post/636492700871507968/i-commissioned-some-art-for-the-devil-and-the-deep)
> 
> [Tweet is here!](https://twitter.com/kingsofthings/status/1340304552810168320?s=21)


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